What a good idea!
by Angela-Bennet
Summary: An extension of the napping scene around DI Thursday's house, which will follow into the beginning of my story. Mr and Mrs Thursday make plans while young Morse lies blissfully unaware in the other room. Enter the striking Joan Thursday. DetectiveConstable/Inspector'sdaughter- oh the possibilities.
1. Chapter 1

Inform me of any mistakes. So this is the first 'Endeavour' fanfic?

* * *

Steam pressed trousers drew Fred Thursday's attention away from the usual centrepiece of the lounge. The television which held prominence in the dimly lit room was no match for the lanky detective constable lounging on the sofa. The DI's coat accompanied him on the sofa, he draped it over the younger gent to hopefully remove the chill brought on by blood loss. The boy needed to learn how to take care of himself, basic life skills on top of learning how to be a good detective. But for now Inspector Thursday took it upon himself to nurture the fool…

The sleepy detective smacked his lips from above the collar of the coat, and frowned. _Jesus, the boy was still trying to crack the case even comatose._ It was Thursdays turn to frown. _What was he kidding? - The young detective wasn't a fool, he was brilliant, a brilliant mind never really switches off._ He hoped he would remain that way, along with his innocence, perhaps even become faster at solving the latest escapades. _Faster than he already was? - Now that's pretty damn fast. Crime prevention would be the next step._

The boy- _ha…the boy?_ Endeavour's attention to detail was commendable, he deserved awards for things that he himself hadn't even accomplished yet in his long career on the force. The DI was proud to say, he was the one who had given him the chance, to extend a hand to the policeman who whittled away his free time at his desk staring at pictures and hieroglyphics, when his colleagues had long gone to the pub.

His wife called from the kitchen- "He isn't one of those new fangled vegetarians is he?"

"Not to my knowledge." He responded, carrying his loud voice out of the room. "Though he looks it."

"Suppose he doesn't like my cooking?"

He began to sip at the beverage he had poured for his colleague. "Nonsense, everybody loves your cooking." He consciously settled the glass back down on the table- before his wife could catch him stealing.

Fred's eyes fell upon the fair face of the slumbering man as he straightened. Fair indeed; light brown eyelashes on pale cheeks, delicate cheekbones, and his permanently perplexed mouth- he could imagine this would appeal to the fairer sex, because even a man of his stature would look twice. He hadn't failed to notice the many pairs of eyes that trail on them walking down the street. DC Ian McLeash's pair of eyes are frequently in Morse's shadow, leering with distaste…_or was it disgruntled admiration?_ It couldn't be anything else- _anything legal that is_.

Silence consumed the living room, that and the ticking clock on the mantel. There wasn't any reason to be here watching over his apprentice, it seemed to slip his mind that he could leave and dress for dinner, or read the paper. His fingers rapped on his trousers idly, eating up into his family time staring affectionately at the new addition in his home. _Okay- this is a trifle odd now._ He felt he was on the verge of bizarre perversion, he hadn't even stared at a woman this long - except his wife. Staring at a decent looking male colleague with such interest was beyond not normal. He stood abruptly to take his leave, and nearly walked smack bang into his wife holding his hot cup of tea. "Owh."

"Nearly." She smiled, the fright still in her eyes. The cup changed hands and she dithered in the doorway as if coming to conclusion her husband had spent the past 5 minutes hovering over their guest – after tucking him in. She detected paternal energies in the room, which was understandable; the man was young, and shy by what she gathered in their last meeting, and she expressed this opinion earlier in the kitchen. But by what her husband had told her, he was an impressionable man that was smart and bold. Such conflicting attributes_; a bold and shy policeman?_ _Perhaps she should use the word gentle instead?_

Mr Thursday watched her over his mug- wondering what had her in a daze. "Something up?"

"He's very pale."

He nodded. "Anaemic, god knows what sort of lifestyle he lives outside of work." He passed her in the doorway to return his cup to the sink. "You know…he had never had a tipple in his life."

She huffed. "What- until he met you?" She knew her husband all too well, _probably stopped off at a few pubs in between cases._ "Please don't try to fit him into your mould."

"-Wouldn't hurt though…?"

"Promise me."

The inspector felt his knees quiver at the sound of his missus' voice, and the rewards given. "He'll be fine with me." His wife relaxed and jolted forward in merriment to smother him with kisses, he managed to control her and himself with a firm squeeze of her forearms. "I think I understand now what Morse needs." She retracted back to listen intently. "A good woman to take care of him."

She nudged him away affectionately. "Oh I see, you're not looking for a lodger are you?- Trying to give me another son to mother. He don't need nursing, you know?" She swaggered over to the sink to clean the dirties. Mrs Thursday sensed her husband eyeing her from the doorway. "I suppose this woman will cook and clean in his accommodation, and darn his socks while he's at work?" She felt his arms hug her waist, she straightened, her hair moving into the path of his warm breath. "Look at yourself, going all gooey just so you can get your way."

He rumbled in humour behind her. "I wouldn't get you to put more work upon yourself."

_Then why was he trying?_ She smirked. "Then what?"

"Inquire at the women's institute." He said that like he meant it, as if it was as easy as baking a cake. The stiffness in her posture must have been felt, for he retracted from her steadily as if she were a spooked horse. "Sweetheart."

She turned on him shrewdly. "You expect me to advertise for a maid for your colleague." The bold inspector seemed to shrivel up before her. "Don't get me wrong, he is a very nice young man- but don't degrade the boy by putting him through that, and don't put me on the spot like that."

His hands were up to defend himself. "He's young and doesn't seem to have any life outside of work, perhaps he doesn't have a nice environment to go home to."

_Damn, he had her._ Mrs Thursday winced. "He is a nice young man…"

"-Yes, you know it makes sense."

"Maybe we could devise a routine?"

"-What a jolly good idea." He needed to put all the credit on her, he needed her on his side- she was a mother after all. "He could have dinner over here twice a week." He maintained his head of the house voice even though really in this day and age- it was his wife who was the commander and chief of the ship.

She nodded assertively, coming around to the idea.

Mr Thursday beamed. "Perhaps wash his clothes?" It left his mouth too soon.

His wife looked a little less pleased. "The boy does look clean enough for him to have done his own. He has clean finger nails after all."

Her husband shrugged, it hadn't occurred to him he was a modern man who did everything for himself. "He still could do with a housekeeper, or landlady."

"What about his own mother?" Soon as this left her mouth, she was blighted by thoughts of him being an orphan, till her husband could reassure her…

"He doesn't speak of his parents often, so I assume a broken home."

Mrs Thursday placed a hand to her heart. "Bless him." Silence deafened the room, through thoughtfulness and respect to those being spoken about. "Perhaps a maid wouldn't be out of the question?- You should talk to him really, discreetly."

"I don't think he will approve." He shot it down immediately.

"But he will listen to you?"

"Yes, but- he wouldn't feel like he accomplished anything if he knows I'm doing it for him- out of pity."

"Well if he is as gentle as you say he is- he wouldn't have that much pride." He couldn't believe she had said that. She noticed and corrected herself. "I mean he respects you enough to listen, he won't get defensive about the idea, will he?"

The inspector's stare was very informative. _He might, he might not- he didn't know Morse that well, did he?_ "Let's just leave the boy alone, shall we?" She returned to washing her dishes. "You'd have thought we had just adopted him."

The inspector disappeared from the room, to quickly observe the person in question- still blissfully unaware of what was unfolding in the kitchen. He re-entered the kitchen quickly enough to startle his missus. "A maid would cost money." A dish plopped heavily back in the water. "A volunteer on the other hand…"

Mrs Thursday hovered over her plates in thought, suds floating before her. "A volunteer…"

The front door opened and slammed shut, removing the stillness from the house. For a split second the inspector believed it was Morse leaving after hearing the commotion- but the boy was too polite to dare leave without excusing himself properly. All was revealed when Joan Thursday emerged from the hall, removing her heels. "An appalling day, lost a pence on the bus and snagged my skirt on the dodgy seating- oh well nothing a needle and thread can't fix." She set her aching feet on the cold tiles of the kitchen floor sighing in relief. She rolled her head up to greet her family and blinked when she noticed her mother and father staring at her in a very peculiar way. "What?"


	2. Chapter 2

_I wrote this a little quickly- please inform me of any grammatical errors- they're hard to spot._

* * *

_Ah yes- she did remember him; the quiet and polite chap who addressed her like a woman_. Joan stood almost threateningly over the defenseless constable. "Okay, the romanticized nurse and patient effect isn't going to work with me, mother." She whispered harshly. The younger Thursday was literally being held in place by her mother. He stirred below her. Joan's face went tight with anxieties. "I feel like a human sacrifice…" She said even more quietly, Morse seemed to snuggle into the sofa cushions, oblivious.

"Look at the poor soul." Her mother said, to what she believed was for the umpteenth time.

Joan rolled her eyes. "Correction; he's the human sacrifice- which is why I must pity him." Her mother squeezed her cruelly. "Bringing him into this mad household- exposing him to us, it's too late now- double exposure. Fatal." She noted it was her father's coat over him, scrutinizing it with concern. "Has Pops adopted him or something?- Dad never lends his coat out to anyone."

"Or so we believe." Mrs Thursday hinted, leaving the notion hovering in the air like a fart.

"What happened to leaving work by the hall stand?- He's cheated, he's brought the hall stand in here." She was about to yank the coat off of the constable.

"-Don't you dare." Was all she heard from the hall, and ceased all movement till the Lion had stopped rumbling. "He's had a rough day."

Joan's hair flapped out of her face with the speed of her turning her head. "What happened?"

"Rough day."

Her father was always inclined to tell her details about his work- so case related it was she concluded. She would have to quiz him about it later, and by 'him' she meant the guy on their sofa. _What was his name again?_ "Is what's-his-name staying for tea?"

"Yes." Her parents replied in unison. And with that she was released from her mother's clutches. If they were having an extra mouth to feed it meant she would have to dine with her shoes on. Her flats were in the hall where she had left them. "Set the table."

"You didn't have to ask." Their dining room was quaint, frequently used as a study by her and her brother. Judging from her Dad's acquaintance with his 'friend'- they would use the usual cutlery as not to intimidate the guest. "Hang on- if you truly are going to force me into slave labour- should I really be doing this on top of that?"

"Don't complain- in my day we didn't get allowances." Mr Thursday brushed past his daughter, bestowing a kiss on the back of her head. She neared the end of her task when her brother suddenly appeared to her left as if by magic.

"Oh you." Joan uttered with false annoyance.

"There's a man in the living room."

"I know."

"Is it the man from the bank?" He pressed, toying with her efforts. "Pops thought he was wet."

"Well you have a poor memory." She straightened what he had tampered with. "No, the man isn't from the bank. It's one of dad's colleagues- the driver from the other day."

"-The ditherer."

"-I feel like I'm going to have this conversation all over again."

"What's going on?"

She sighed, long suffering. "Not having this conversation; man has had a rough day- man falls asleep, now he is dining with us." Their mother arrived with some condiments for the table. "Not another word."

He didn't listen. "Mum, there's a man in the living room." Sam repeated with more urgency, making anything Joan had said redundant, she growled.

Mrs Thursday smiled. "A human sacrifice." Joan shot her a look- not wanting Sam to know of their plans. "He got hurt while on the job." Mrs Thursday didn't fail to notice her daughter's sudden intrigue and concern – it was quite sweet.

"When were you going to tell me this?"

Sam shot his sister a bizarre look, before focusing back on mother. "A casualty? And he takes refuge here?"

"I'm sure he didn't choose to come here, your father must have put his foot down." Her tone dropped considerably as her husband entered the room with a glass of stout.

"I'll look up exactly where he's staying." He began without thought, Joan knew what he was referring to and cut across, before her brother could work out what was going on.

"-I'll sit by the door!" So she could escape when she had to. "Pop, will you sit by me?"

Mrs Thursday detected angst in her voice. "Make sure you leave a space for Morse."

"Oooo." A sudden noise emitted from the younger gent, startling everyone. "Are you sure that's wise? A strange man sitting an arms-length away from that mini-skirt."

The DI sputtered on his stout foam. "Sam!"

Joan managed to clip the back of his head before father could do it. It was enough to start a good bicker session as they sat down to dinner. "He isn't that sort of chap- too restrained."

"Too restrained?" Both parents caught onto this. The DI knew these were modern times, _but decent meant too restrained?- Wasn't that enough?_ He cleared his throat. "Morse doesn't even touch drink- unless forced, so I think his interest in girls are….on second thoughts- we should put him across the table, in case the temptation creeps upon him." His girl Joan wasn't the type to go bashful at such topics, but he knew his daughter's mood would flare in the presence of her brother and another male.

"Erm…thank you." She murmured, seating herself comfortably by herself on one side, while her brother smirked at her from the other. Dinner reached their nostrils before it was placed before them. "Hm… it looks lovely." She was about to tuck in, when that annoying brother of hers made funny noises.

"Dit- dit- dah, now I remember him." His fork tapped on the edge of his plate imitating morse code.

Joan rolled her eyes. "Well it was only yesterday, his face isn't exactly forgettable." A stunned silence followed. "A dear-like face." She added, trying to both avoid and distract her family by sawing at her beef. "That's what I meant."

"Not as endearing as your beloved stalker." Sam butted, not even looking up. _She was going to kill him_.

Her father reared with surprise. "Stalker?- Joan are you having any trouble?"

Joan could feel her anxiety level rising. "No, no I'm not." She breezed, glaring at the abomination at the table. "Just a very generous breakfast date- well acquaintance really."

"Who's this then?" Her father tried not to press too hard or else she might not divulge.

"Ronnie."

"Ronnie Gidderton from the bank?- I thought you said he was a bit wet?" Mr Thursday was displeased.

"Well it's not my fault if you scared off all the decent ones." One sniff from her father and every suitor would run a mile. She crossed her arms ready for another bicker session, she didn't notice her father look up and over her head.

"Come in Morse, don't stand up on ceremony."

She felt suddenly wracked with guilt that she had just earlier been talking about him- it was just good timing- or maybe even luck that Morse had made himself known when she was on a new subject. Joan glanced in time to see the detective sheepishly manoeuvring into the room from the darkness of the hall. _So he hadn't improved on his social etiquette, she would have to buy him a good manual._

"Budge up Sam." Her father instructed, she revelled in her delight- and imagined sticking her tongue out at her brother.

"You shouldn't have let me sleep. Sir." She could see this strange sort of smile creeping to his features- it stripped the fear from his aura.

"Well it looked like you could do with it." The DI gestured to his place at the table. "Mrs Thursday has done you some tea."

_Mrs Thursday?_ – Luckily her mum had something to say about this- "Win dear." _Okay, it wasn't much_. He visibly relaxed as he shrugged into his allocated seat, she dared her brother to be the first sibling to speak to him.

"Are you feeling better?" A quick light of acceptance reached his eyes.

Morse read this as an honest question. "Oh yes much better, thanks." He grunted so quick she couldn't believe the anti-climax she felt.

"And what happened to you then?" It came out equally as quick and as careless. He met her gaze slightly off centre, so really he was looking everywhere but her eyes. _Was this how he approached suspects and witnesses?_

"Not at tea Joan, thank you."

She shot her father a look of indifference - "I was _only asking_." Noting the detective silently observing the exchange she smiled at him.

"I know what '_your only'_." _Did he really have to go into this in front of guests?_ "There's one rule in this house."

"-Where do we leave work?" Sam took over.

_Oh really did he have to get involved to ridicule her_. "On the hall stand by the front door." She kept flitting between her father and Morse to judge the level of intimidation. She found none; he was rather entertained by it all she figured. "What else are we going to talk about?- The Weather?" She heard their phone ringing in the hallway and hoped it was one of mates to the rescue.

Sam beat Joan standing up to go and get it. They couldn't have both of them racing to the phone."-Or whether you're too big for a spanking."

"Huh, I'd like to see you try?"

"You wait till I get back from the army."

It was her turn to closely observe him, he had finally decided to look down and tuck into his meal- it was probably to break away from what her father had just advised him confidentially, but fairly loudly for her to hear. He had barely nibbled at his grub when the phone call became urgent and summoned the detectives to the station. Upon this news she remained non-plus since it was a regular occurrence in her household. "You'll have to get some chips on the way home." She directed at Morse- who opened his mouth to speak, her ears wagged ready to listen when her father clapped him on the shoulder.

"Get your coat, Morse."

It had ruined what possibly could have been a witty moment, though Mrs Thursday was determined for it to end less abrupt. "Joan dear, go get the constable's coat." Joan didn't fail to notice that all eyes were on her, and made very sure she took her time getting up and walking into the other room, so as not to look too eager. The coat was in her grasp when she detected the awkward energy of a constable behind her. He was a lot further than she thought, his back was almost touching the wall and his hands were in his pockets. _Bless him_.

Her brother had opened the front door ready, while her mother was assisting her husband with his coat- it was a family affair when it came to departing. She felt something tugging at her hand and realised Morse was trying to lift the coat from her politely without disturbing her from her daze.

_Patience._ The youngest Thursday gave a resistant smile before gesturing with the coat for him to turn around. It wasn't a smooth operation- the moment he realized what she was about to do, he looked at the DI to silently ask for permission for his daughter to dress him.

"Hurry up, Joan." Was all Mr Thursday uttered down the hall.

The constable frowned, not able to deduct his boss's reason for the fuss. He had established that Joan was occasionally an obedient daughter, especially as he faced the door and was gently anointed with his coat. _Is this what married life was like?_

* * *

_r&r_


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, it needs to be proof read really- I'll either do that in the morning- or someone could point out the mistakes- pretty please. Anyhow enjoy!

* * *

Joan went to bed with the light on. Not like her really, she just forgot to switch it off on the way, and now she was idly lying atop of her covers staring at the still lit bulb.

_He had winced._ She blinked, creating a neon spot in her vision from where the bulb had been- she turned onto her side to remove the strain from her eyes. Ronnie had originally taken up her thoughts as she had brushed her teeth, but as soon as she had crossed the landing -she had spied the front door and was reminded of the awkwardness that had played out in front of her family. Morse had winced when she had assisted him with his coat. Joan recalled her mother mentioning an injury- and she hadn't been ballsy enough to actually ask where it was. Against her better judgement she had asked her brother if he saw anything peculiar from his angle. To which he replied "Apart from the look of discomfort, pain and general misery- perfectly normal."

That deserved another clip around the ear, followed by a fast retreat to the dining room before her dinner went cold. Sam was at the table scraping Morse's meal on top of his. "Waste not want not."

"Greedy Pig." She pushed her food about her plate before nibbling at it. "I think I understand why he's the size he is." Though it was the constable she had had in mind when she had said this, it was her brother who took offence.

* * *

You never remember the exact moment you go to sleep. So she was surprised she got any at all, worrying about what could be required of her the next day.

The youngest Thursday normally enjoyed getting ready for the day; selecting clothes from her wardrobe, and accessorizing. Today, it was tedious work- since she didn't have classes today and her job had the disadvantage of being a little male dominated. Though there was another woman, Joan unfortunately drew the unwanted attention, from her peers and the old duffers that ran the place. Short skirts were the now of fashion, but they revealed her when she had to bend or go up stairs. _But hell, she loved her pastel minis._

She felt like creeping downstairs that morning to avoid being forced to put on some cropped trousers, or be force fed some pancakes and bacon. Her mother wanted her to put on some weight, which she would gladly- _if Twiggy and Grace Kelly put some on first!_

Joan succeeded in silently slipping into her green wool coat and opening the front door when- her mother rushed her. _Darn it_. Mrs Thursday thrust a brown bag into her hands without a word of 'please'. "Mother, I'm a little old for packed lunches."

"Until I see you eat properly- you're never too old for packed lunches."

Joan peered into the bag with mock interest. "Corned beef." She used her work smile to fool her mother. "One of my favourites."

"Your father took some convincing as well, when I met him he had a poor appetite, then came marital bliss…"

"And he gained a few pounds." She finished cheekily, discreetly putting the sandwiches in her pocket.

Her mother briefly mirrored her smirk. "Yes, but I call them children."

"Haha- good one mum!" And that was a good finish before taking her leave, or so she thought. Her mother surprised her with yet another bag and a note. "Oh, what's this?" She frowned.

"Your mission." Mrs Thursday gave her a quick peck on the cheek before closing the front door- and sealing her daughter out into the world- of secret missions and espionage. _Their family needed to read less Ian Fleming and more cookbooks!_

Joan didn't wait till she was down the street to open the note, it all but burned in her hand before she reached the end of her drive. _Morse _– followed by an address to an urban area was scrawled out on the paper. She figured it was quickly given over the phone- she recognised the paper and pen they reserved for that use. There was a fleeting look back at the house in puzzlement, just in time to see the front-room's curtains twitch back into place. _Were they testing her nerve?_

If she must, she must. When she reached the high street- the final stretch of road to her place of work, she heard the unmistaken ring of a bicycle bell directly behind her. Gathering herself -she turned. "Ronnie."

The teddy boy moonlighting as a bank clerk grinned at her from his 'mount'. "Yer' alright Joannie? I thought I'd catch ya before you went in." His work voice was non-existent as he came fully onto the pavement. She smiled at him sweetly to show her interest in him.

"Always keen I see, you could have given me a lift?"

He laughed heartily, knowing most girls were turned off by plain old bicycles- Joan though would never let it be known, her distaste never shown itself outwardly. That could have been a huge flaw on her part, she was too friendly, so everyone assumed she was game. If she could be more stand-offish- she would cut her problems in half. Though she had her wit- when she dare use it, that certainly scared off a few people.

"I'll buy yer' a bap at the next café if yer' let me walk yer' to work?" _Aww_- he tried.

She tipped her head at him as they walked. "That seems a little redundant- seeing as we're already walking together and have missed every café on the strip." She saw the clockwork in his head ticking, then he laughed- again heartily, as if she had said the funniest thing in the world.

"Come on, stop yanking my chain- it's been awhile since we had a decent breakfast together." His eyes were full of longing, which always made her weary he was going to suddenly pop down on one knee and propose to her at one of these 'dates'. "Or I could simply invite you around mine- after work?"

Joan stopped in her tracks. "I'm not sure your family would approve."

"-It was their idea."

"-What?" That frightened her greatly, though it wasn't evident in her voice. "What have you told them about me?" She continued- trying to sound proud.

"You know, your family, our work, how we've been meeting and greeting each other. " It sounded like it was going to turn into a list- he cleared his throat. "Look- my family want to meet you, I said I'd bring you round for dinner…soo…?"

_Jesus Christ_- this is the day she discovered her fear- a day she would meet the parents of a boy_friend_, and not the best boy_friend_ she had ever had. _Okay- a little mean_. The walls were closing in on their relationship, and she did feel like she was fast approaching a proposal. _Run_. The idea of getting roped into a marriage filled with nothing in common but the same route to work would kill her. She had frozen on the payment, face set into a perplexed sort of grimace. "Oh…I'm sorry Ronnie." She wet her lips. "My family have made plans- I have to do this _thing_, I won't be able to…I'm sorry."

He deflated very slowly, painfully slowly. "Oh…Hm…okay." She smiled awkwardly to gauge him. "Can I ask what the _thing_ is?"

_Okay, she should have expected that._ "Family errand." It was the truth. "Here." She pulled her lunch bag out of her pocket. "I made them myself." _Liar!_

He took it from her cagily, peering into the bag clearly expecting something good- before smiling like a Cheshire cat. _Oh god, he didn't think this was a proposal, did he?_ "Thank you." He pulled her into a hug, wind-ing her.

She stared horrified over his shoulder. "Okay…you're welcome?" She reasserted her 'happy to help' face before he got a chance to see the sudden transition. Though it wasn't a simple pull back, he puckered up and applied suction to her face, to which she desperately try to remove herself from with squeals of anguish. The kafuffle on the pavement continued for about 5 minutes before a random passer-by honked at them- saving her by killing the mood. "See you tomorrow?"

"Of course." And she left him at the scene of the assault, with her hands shoved awkwardly in her pockets. Joan didn't feel the need to look back- she was embarrassed and late for work.

While digging into her pockets for change to buy a packet of mints- she found a lunch bag, and to her dismay it contained her corn beef sandwiches. _Shit- she had given Ronnie her assignment!_

* * *

You think being the curious woman she was- she would have inspected the contents of the 'other lunch bag' simultaneously with the note. But she hadn't. So for all she knew she could have given Ronnie chocolates, or a tie and cuff-links. Though how would that hold onto the pretense that she had _'made them herself?_'- Well it was a little too late to worry about it now, she had to replace the item (whatever it was) or come up with something even better. It weighed on her mind throughout work, in between serving and smiling at the customers.

The note she had been bequeathed that morning was crumpled in her pocket, but it was still decipherable- so she had no excuse not to succeed this mission. She bought chocolate, an apple and a tie clip with some of her wages. Joan was about to place them in her now empty lunch bag until she caught a whiff of its previous occupants. She was forced to use some of her perfume to freshen up her bag before recycling it.

When her shift was over, she walked with one of her fellow female colleagues to the urban area written on the paper, when they quizzed her on her business in the area- she claimed she was looking up a relative before bidding them good day.

The address was a modest little boarding house just off the high street, she stared up at it from the railing with trepidation, before she found herself on the doorstep studying the buzzers. _This was ridiculous- getting nervous over nothing._ It was probably because her family had put this on her, and her father's work was just as important to her as it was for him. So doing things for his colleagues is…._productive?_ She scrutinised the bag in her hand- _chocolates and a tie pin- why?_ Maybe what she actually lost in the original bag was a get well soon card. _Bugger_.

One of the buzzers had a newly applied label with 'Morse' scrawn onto it. He shouldn't be home, unless he was indeed resting from his injury. Joan hadn't considered the possibility of contacting the individual in person. Though she was a very social person, outside the house it changed the context of things. A girl showing up at a man's flat to shower him with- _gifts_, wasn't entirely innocent. If she was going to assist Morse, shouldn't they have informed him? Maybe he was expecting her? Her finger hovered over the buzzer before she chickened out and clicked the one above it. 'French'

Within minutes she was allowed into the residence_- hardly safe_. A woman in the hallway watching her from their door she figured was that who buzzed her in. "Hello?"

Joan smiled across. "Sorry to bother you, I needed someone to take in a package for me- for the gent next door?"

The woman looked put out. "Why didn't you buzz him?"

"That's a good question. One I have no answer for-"She could tell 'French' was unimpressed. "But hey ho- I'll attempt something decent; right- hm… I haven't really known the man very long, and I believed it would be safer to pass the goods onto someone who may be more acquainted with him." She held out the package like she had won an argument. A condescending look bristled her. "Obviously not." She added more quietly.

"Well lucky for you- he isn't in."

"That's the way I like it." Joan had worked out the woman wasn't going to be compliant wilfully, so she slowly placed the bag by his door. "I'll just leave this here, then." She whispered to herself more than anything. Just before she departed; she saluted the woman. Joan caught a table in the hallway, and zoned in on a key by a pot of flowers- she snagged it in passing and exited. The door closed abruptly behind her, _either caused through wind, or the cow in the hallway_. The downside to her anxieties was; she didn't get the payoff in person – so she would have to rely on her father.

* * *

Does anyone want me to keep doing it from Joan's point of view (mysterious)- or to touch upon Morse's point of view? Tell me guys

R&R


	4. Chapter 4

The drive back to the station took longer than usual, due to the silence that had consumed both the Detective Inspector and the Constable. The older gent had a tremor in his hand from the drama that had unfolded on the roof of that building. His tobacco had spilled onto the car floor several times in his attempt to fill his pipe.

Morse's hand shot across to the glove compartment in order to open it."Use the draw to catch the bits, sir."

"Good thinking." He commented modestly, very persistent in having a smoke while sealed in their steel box. "Remind me when I get back to the station- to call my wife, the paperwork will let it slip my mind."

"Yes, Sir." Still concentrating on the road, he let his mind reflect back on the Thursday household; comfortable, organised, and occasionally argumentative. He supposed it was in their genes; to have the outside exterior of a loving warm brood, but the capability to be sharp and resilient. It certainly showed in the younger Thursdays. They were good examples of today's generation- alien to his upbringing, but fascinating subjects to study and poke with a stick. One rather unprofessional thought came to mind when recollecting standing on his DI's doorstep, but he eliminated it from his head like he did suspects in an inquiry.

_Family_. Morse had fond memories of having a sister; Joyce, she had been accommodating to his craft. He figured the Thursday siblings had that connection- but more powerful. It had been a nice change of scene being around his mentor's place, compared to his dark lodgings. "I could do the necessary paperwork- I'm up for a nice night in the office."

"Morse, if this is an excuse to climb the hierarchy ladder, I'm having none of it. You need to rest, and eat. You could kill yourself if you don't use a pit stop once in a while." There was a heavy tapping on the side of the door, Morse glanced across and saw Fred banging his pipe. "I suppose you'll sleep even better tonight, knowing that lunatic's behind bars."

It had given him a little scare. Not enough to render even his shortest naps- _oh wait, he didn't take naps, or snack breaks- _So it wouldn't have affected his appetite. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, still in control of the car.

"You make me nervous nowadays when you're behind the wheel. How am I suppose to trust you if you don't take my advice?- Pull over, I'll take to the wheel and take you home."

"No, I've got this covered. I want to wrap up this case by doing the paperwork, while it's still fresh in my head." His thin build fidgeted in the driver's seat, keeping the inspector apprehensive. "It's how I mentally deal with things."

"Actually, it's your music, and you won't get that in the office." The constable caught Thursday glance at him craftily. "Something tells me they'll be something else nice waiting for you at home." He smirked at that notorious furrowed brow that adorned the young man's features frequently.

"-Well…err… there's my book collection that needs organising?" Still clueless on whatever Thursday was insinuating.

"Whatever makes you keen, hold onto that." Fred retorted in jest. "Anything to get you home sooner."

Morse gave a wince of a smile, before a set of traffic lights beckoned him.

* * *

He wasn't sure what to make of his DI's deliberate attempts to get him out of the office. Soon as Endeavour had sat at his desk to fill out some forms, the inspector made a big deal about there being no tea or coffee left in the office and the staffroom. "Dear me, looks like you'll have to take your caffeine dose at home."

Endeavour pressed on regardless under the lamp on his desk.

"I think we have a mouse in the office, maybe even a rat." Fred chipped in, breezing by the desk. Endeavour merely glanced up, but did lift his feet off the ground to avoid any suspecting nibbling visitors.

Soon all natural day-light had left the room, and by then many colleagues had clocked out, leaving Fred and Endeavour alone after hours. There was an unexpected nip of cold air that reached his skin. Upon analysis; he discovered a window had been left open. Fred, as if on cue- appeared in a doorway. "I think they've turned the heating off, typical."

"You're joking?" The young gent raised a sceptical brow. "First the coffee, then a rat- now the heating?" The DI shrugged his shoulders at this. "Are you sure we locked away that lunatic?"

"That case is now closed, Morse." As if about to berate him. "Tomorrow's a new day, probably a slow and very crimeless one, compared to today. Time to go."

Now, if DI Thursday had said that first- Morse would have been convinced to go home. Now he was ready-ish. But he didn't like the idea of his boss succeeding in kicking him off his cloud. _But let's muse him._ Morse stood up and made an elaborate gesture of grabbing his coat. "Erm I'm off now Sir." He fiddled with his collar, drawing upon Fred's very victorious face. "Oh- sorry, I forgot to remind you to call your family."

The Inspector smiled with his eyes. "It's all taken care of, now push off." He indicated with his head towards the door. Morse felt he was watched all the way to the exit- he supposed it was to make sure he actually left the premises. He was the only colleague who could actually get into trouble for sneaking into work.

* * *

He got to the boarding house front door around 12 am, he unlocked it and shuffled into the main hall. He was on auto-pilot, so he went through the motions of what he normally did. He peered at the notice board, shifted the vase of flowers so he wouldn't knock it over in the morning, and then went to his door, _quietly- he didn't want to disturb Ms French_. His shoe kicked something papery and he looked downward to investigate. _So he couldn't exactly switch off just yet._ He stooped, and straightened with a brown bag in his hand. Morse waited till he was inside before inspecting its contents. He frowned- these were not his. But who would give him this? –Perhaps a mistake?

He turned the apple in his hand, the chocolate remained untouched on the table surface. The weight of the bag indicated there was something more- he tipped it up and something shiny clattered down next to the chocolate-

'A pin?' He mouthed to the empty flat. He rolled it about in his hand to feel the value of it- _which weren't much_, _about 70p_. His face darkened as a very sinister thought came to mind. _What if it was the lunatic?_- _A present left before he was captured_. He dropped it immediately. There could be hazardous material lacing the items. He seized the bag ready to deposit the 'evidence,' when he abruptly caught a whiff of something not entirely unpleasant. _Careful._ He hesitantly raised the hollow of the bag to his nose and sniffed, before trusting his instincts. He inhaled deeply. Morse's lids fluttered. _Whoaw- smells like…vanilla, and…opium?_ It was a fleeting memory, but he was uncertain on whether he had smelled that scent somewhere before. He took another long and deciphering sniff. Conclusion; _yes, he had smelt that smell before, and recently._ He narrowed his eyes like he were interrogating a suspect.

'Something tells me they'll be something else nice waiting for you at home.' – He recalled what DI Thursday had said in the car. _Well that was a very good hunch, inspector._ Either that, or he was entirely aware of it. _But a scented bag?- A prank maybe?_ It must have been common knowledge on the force he wasn't getting any female company around his flat, so by putting _this_ into his possession – did they seriously believe he would become game for action? – Stage one of the prank?-

Morse's core went very cold, and his posture stiff- he looked towards his other room. "Hello?" Silence. He stood up speedily enough to reaffirm his dominance. If someone was indeed hiding in his room, he should hold on to the pretence that he was very willing to defend himself in a dignified manner. "I'm not in the mood to be trifled with- perhaps you'll feel the same after I put you through the hell I am capable of putting you through." His voice remained on the same level it did when he was talking to a witness, calm and resilient. He flung his leg at the door in question to knock it open. It was quick, but he got a good view of an _empty_ room_. Idiot_. He closed his eyes, and filed away another act of foolishness.

So the scented bag of goodies was…_a scented bag of goodies_. Could he utilize these items?- _Possibly_. A Prank doesn't really end like this, so it must be a gift. The tie pin found its way into his hand. DI Thursday was going to get a thorough quizzing tomorrow.

Endeavour arranged his clothes for the next morning in a pile- and slipped into some thermals for bed. He kept the light on a little while to read his law books. During a rather interesting chapter of one -he reached across his side-table and absently grabbed the chocolate bar. It was only when he was tasting it he realized he was actually utilizing a gift. He sniffed the chocolate for an almond aroma- cyanide. _Well it would be too late if there was any_. He wasn't the type to eat in bed, he hated crumbs and splinters- but here he was- nodding off with a scented wrapper clinging to his content face. He finally slipped into the land of slumber, nurtured by a cloud of vanilla and opium. _Or maybe he was dying._

* * *

_R&R_


	5. Chapter 5

Please inform me of any mistakes. The borders separating scenes keep disappearing from the published version- not my fault.

* * *

Joan woke up to the sound of voices; whispering harshly in the early hours of the morning. She lay there for a moment distinguishing whose voices she was eavesdropping on.

"_Now then, I'm fine_." -Pops.

"_You had to tell me didn't you, a few drinks and your code of honour slips. I'm going to worry all night now." _

Her mother was worried and sounded slightly angry, it could only mean dad had blabbed about something work related, something discomforting. Joan kept still as the landing light went on outside her room.

"Fred don't, she'll sense something bad has happened- plus she's asleep." Dark shapes appeared in the slit of the door, Joan squeezed her eyes shut to feign being in a slumber. It was futile really- he would come in and wake her if it was urgent. The light from the hall spilled into her room and onto her face, she squinted and recoiled as if she had been startled awake. "Sorry sweetheart."

"Dad, what's the matter?" She sat up and rubbed her eyes, exposing some new Pyjamas.

"It's alright love, had a bit of a funny sort of day, had to see the face of my children- Awwh- is that new night attire?- My little girl-" He was about to go into a sappy speech when her mother assisted him from the room.

Mrs Thursday smiled and mouthed 'goodnight' before firmly shutting the door, she heard the same thing happen further down the hall in Sam's room. He was obviously doing the rounds of fatherly gratitude. Her mother had been right; she was going to worry over what happened today. Joan sighed heavily and sunk back down into her foetal position. She knew her dad had a risky job that affected all of them, it had been a long while since he had done something like that. She sunk her teeth into her lip. Maybe someone had nearly died?...Either Dad or Morse.

Joan screwed her eyes up. Thank God he didn't ask about the mission. She didn't need a test on what was in the bag she was supposed to give to the constable. Hopefully her substitutes had sufficed, and she hadn't given him something he was allergic to, or something that could be considered- love tokens. Imagine that; one of dad's colleagues becoming aware of a girl's secret trips to his home. _When exactly was her dad going to bring to matter up with the man concerned? Was she to be a secret helper?_ She turned over in hopes of ridding herself of what could be plaguing her father and mother minds to have them up and about at this hour. There had been murders written about in the paper, none of which she personally knew the victims- but the thought of her dad getting mixed up with them- was too close to home. How can one sleep now? She gave her pillow a gruff punch before trying again to sleep.

* * *

Morse shuffled into his DI's office, unsure whether or not to bring up the bag of trinkets. They had been assigned an old case which they had been on prior to the 'serial murders'. The case was merely fraud, not that urgent in Morse's books, it affected his speed and concentration. He stood in relative silence in the office. Thursday was very much aware he was there. "Morse?"

"Oh… right." He drifted forward. "Did you drop something around my flat last night?"

Fred raised a vacant eyebrow. "What?" It was very abrupt, even for him. The younger gent looked a little worried, even as the DI picked him apart with his eyes. In just a second it registered in the elder's brain. Morse saw the recognition and was hopeful. "Morse, do you really think I have time for anything like that?"

"Oh, well of course not." He fingered his collar. "Just, I've had something dropped off at my flat, not dangerous mind you, just- the sender didn't leave a note, and I assumed it was you."

Thursday toyed with his pipe- almost morbidly. A playful smile danced on his lips before he fixed it into that of bafflement. "Why would you believe that? - Just because I have a new colleague going through a bit of a puddle doesn't mean I'm going to molly-coddle them." He stood to assert his authority. "I understand we are a team, we watch each other's back, but once we cross the threshold of one's home, the business should be left by the door."

"Ah- well that's why you see I assumed it was you, it were left by the door." The constable established in his adolescent but meticulous voice.

The inspector looked upon him quite fondly, since he had managed to absorb his family's code after such a short visit. He turned as if to look upon his notice board thoughtfully- it gave him time to think and re-fix his face, which was stifling a snigger. He moved around speedily to burp out something ludicrous before he changed his mind. "Maybe you have an admirer?"

Endeavour did a double take, all the while Fred held himself together. "Highly unlikely, what I have aren't tokens…they're more consumerables, and very mundane at that."

"A little ungrateful, don't you think?" He retorted before he could stop himself, he received a look of discomfort from his detective. "I can assume in the past you have got ornate gifts from women pursuing you."

Rubbing his ear-lobe thoughtfully- "It doesn't take past experience to know this isn't really someone professing their love." He went quiet- as if he had just heard himself. "By the looks of it; it isn't a mature person doing this-"

This had the inspector genuinely miffed. _That was odd_. "Right…" He moved around the desk to perch on the front. "Do you have any young neighbours?" Crossing his arms in examination of the situation.

Morse shook his head looking at his shoe. "I have one, but I have eliminated her from the inquiry."

"This isn't a case, Morse." He knew that- but it was funny seeing the gent pick it apart like it was one. "Anything on the fraudsters' case?"

"Well the person is using a biro…"He trailed off uninterested. "Though it could be an honest mistake, wrong flat maybe?"

"Huh?"

Morse was rubbing the back of his head. "Biro. Fraudsters using a biro, if it were me I would have used a type writer, less work for myself." Getting back on track, he dawdled in the office a bit longer, wary of slipping back into the other subject. He dismissed himself. This gave the DI an opportunity to make a personal phone call.

* * *

Joan checked herself in the mirror of the hallway and quickly blasted herself with some perfume. Done. She heard the phone ring but thought nothing of it- she was already through the door so no one would catch her in the hall. It wasn't enough, the person who answered the phone must have been on the phone for just a second- and more so aware that she had just left, because she heard the front door open and someone beckoning her back inside. "It's Pops, he wants to talk to you."

She looked back shrewdly. "When I'm already out the house- you say; she's just left- _can I take a message_?"

"-What, to Pops? You must be joking- how do you know I didn't say that, and dad was just persistent?"

_True, her dad would do that._ "I'm coming." She shimmied back into the house and seized the receiver. "Dad."

He cut straight to the point. "Right Joan- I need you to think back to what was in that bag you dropped off, just to clarify."

"I-err-hm-"

He continued as if he didn't require an answer. "I'll need you to get them again, maybe throw in something extra."

She sensed her brother linger in the hall to eavesdrop and give her added anxiety.

Nevertheless, Joan soldiered on regardless. "You know what- I didn't actually look in the bag." She toyed with her earring. "I just did what you needed; dropped the bag off. So perhaps you could tell me?"

"You mean you never checked beforehand?-"

_Think think think_. "Well no one exactly instructed me to look, I assumed it was confidential- and I thought I was honouring that." _Very well done_, she patted herself on the back.

"I commend your restraint, sweetheart, I suppose you'll have to ask your mother."

She felt her lips tighten at that thought. _Okay_. "Or I could take the duty off mother- improvise."

There was a very reassuring pause. "Could you do that?" It was a theoretical question. "Well I suppose I implied the other day you had an additional job, this could be it. Just pick up a few gifts and send them over again. Make it a routinely thing."

This would be difficult, what else can you get for someone who's a busy colleague of her father's? "What should I get him, did he have any requests?"

Another reassuring pause. "Ah- well he doesn't exactly know about us."

The air left the room, she tightened her grip on the receiver for fear of it falling from her hand. "What?!- Dad, he doesn't know…how can he not know?- Didn't you suggest he needed support?" She realised she might have stepped on her own foot here- surely the original bag had a note in- she cringed imagining Ronnie seeing that note- if it indeed existed. "Perhaps a get well soon card?"

"Good idea- I'm surprised your mother didn't think of that."

"It is a wonder." Her palms were beginning the sweat. "Yes, leave it all to me." She was about to ring off- when her father interjected with a rather bizarre request.

"I've had a rather good thought, since Morse is currently unaware of the sender of his gift- we could leave it that way." The inspector crossed all his fingers, bringing the phone slightly away from his ear, in case his daughter raised her voice in annoyance.

"What's your game, dad?- I've become an anonymous keeper now…" This was a lot of trouble, how can you get that _feel good_ feeling if you're not getting any credits for the deeds done? "Okay, I'll take that as a blessing, wouldn't want any rumours going around the force that you've gone soft."

"Good girl."

"-Woman."

"That's right, see this through to the end and I'll bump up your curfew."

_She had a curfew, a grown woman had a curfew?_ "And the blessing extends to me as well, wouldn't want anybody thinking I was pursuing the constable." She realised her error with wording it out loud when her brother whooped behind her. "Dear Lord Sam- I could just get you to do it!" Her brother went quiet behind her. She heard her father chuckling at the other end, further adding to her torment. "Give me an idea of what I'm giving him."

"Love." Sam chimed in the background, and she reached around to try and grab the scruff of his neck.

"Shouldn't you be stuffing your face around about this time?!" Joan exclaimed over her shoulder. "Not you dad, Sammy." She added down the phone.

The DI recovered. "Like you said before; Improvise." He never for a moment thought she had been speaking to him. "Bye now sweetheart, love you." And he was off.

And she guessed that was his way of saying; _Good luck._

* * *

Morse had his elbows resting on his desk. His jacket was off, which normally meant he was in the middle of a vast amount of paperwork. After what seemed like a minute's lapse in concentration- he returned to pounding the typewriter. So they were putting his highly trained literacy skills to good use. His fellow detective he usually shared the office with had got off easy, he had been chosen to attend a crime scene, which had left him to do all the administration duties. So he was alone, unsupervised, and un-stimulated.

Something was weighing down in his pocket, he had been itching to get it out all day. _Time for some new-fangled criminal profiling_. He tugged out the brown paper bag secreted in his pocket. He sniffed it again to refresh his memory; _Ah, vanilla and opium_. It had plagued his thoughts all night and day; a fragrance that could launch a thousand ships-_ hm he could have a job in advertising_. He had already established that the gifts were probably given by a female, and someone not yet fully matured. The gifts were purchased quickly and with very little money, almost carelessly- typical of a youth.

The perfume had him in a grasp once more, his head was nearly in the bag. Vanilla and Opium- such class, so exotic- would a youth with so little money splash out on such a perfume? -Unless it was a gift. To establish the class of the girl and her family, he would need to investigate the name of the perfume and where it was sold. He stopped. Was he really going to put in this much effort in finding an anonymous drop off?- It still could have been an honest mistake. He screwed his face up to decide whether it was worth it.

His paperwork beckoned him. But so did the perfume.

* * *

Reviews would be appreciated, since this is a very small fandom.


	6. Chapter 6

OMG I was having a spaz attack-Wow- lots of Joan this week (Episode 4). And it seems to fit this chapter. I will definitely incorporate tonight's segments in future chapters with extensions. Brilliant.

Dear lord- surely that episode proves the ship works, and the series is not the end.

* * *

Joan had had a very close call. She had been very nonchalant about her plans for that morning. Right up until the moment she turned down into the street of the boarding house, and spied a certain detective constable strolling up the very same street. He was walking in the same direction, but away from her, but still- it had been a close one. _Supposing she had reached the door the same time he had opened it to leave?_ Dead. _Well not exactly dead_, her plans would have been scuppered though. _How would one explain why she was there without mentioning him, or the bag she held in her mitts?_ She swiftly put the bag behind her on approach to the property. By then, the fair haired man in question had crossed the road and had disappeared around the corner.

The young Thursday still had her heart in her mouth after her near miss with 'the rabbit', and it took several clenched fists and hair tucks to get over that little surprise. The key she stole from the other day was burning in her coat pocket. She brandished it, and it aptly glimmered in her hand. Now for the lock. It fit precisely- which was what she had been counting on. Since it was broad daylight, she had to act as if she lived there, so she had to be quick and casual, but quiet. She didn't close the door behind her since she was going to just drop of her recent purchases and head to work. She had gone for a more tidy lunch caddy inside the bag, so nothing was rolling around or mingled. Joan had put together a tuna salad, a chocolate bar and a new tie, she even had a card included- a gift shop type card. To avoid any particular smell dominating the bag; she quickly sealed a puff of her perfume in there.

It only took less than 10 seconds to complete the drop-off, she was out of the building and down the road before any knew she was ever there. She smiled to herself and disappeared into the mid morning crowd on the main street.

* * *

Thursday and Morse were out at a 'scene'. As if they had rehearsed it- they in unison pulled out their identification and warrant cards.

"Detective Inspector Thursday."

"-Detective Constable Morse, City Police."

The witness about to be consulted, nodded in acknowledgement. "I have already given my details to a PC."

"But we're CID, we have a better chance at dealing with these matters." Morse retorted, tucking his wallet away. "You have some cheques deposited here by the suspect…"

There was some fiddling as the witness fondled with a wad of cheques. Morse screwed his face up at the inconvenience of it all and the general tardiness of invoices.

Thursday noted the kafuffle also unimpressed."Sorry…but how exactly did you leave it to mount to this many cheques when they supposedly bounced?"

Morse reached a conclusion before the witness had time to open his mouth. "Supposedly if the business was operating under normal week-day conditions, it needed to mount up in bulk before anything is cashed, it would be too time consuming to do it individually after every transaction."

Thursday indicated to the piles. "I was referring to fact that the cheques were already separated as if they were already suspicious- and it's taken up to now for you to look into it. The man could have deposited cheques all up the street before anything was done."

Morse had something more to say. "I assumed he separated them just before we arrived."

The witness nodded. "That I did, I even passed some of the cheques on to the constable I mentioned."

Both the detectives shared a curious look_. Funny, they hadn't received any new cheques in the office_. The elder of the two officials took over. "Did they ask for the cheques, or did you just give them him because he was a member of the police?"

The member of staff didn't hide the fact he was nervous. "I thought he had the authority to take them." The detectives looked shifty. "Did I do something wrong?"

Thursday jumped in before Morse could get in to ridicule the man. "No no, you did fine. Just always ask for more information, don't rely on the uniform alone."

Morse tried to be as polite as possible. "Please tell me- Did the PC give a name?"

"Yes, Doe."

_A John Doe_. Another awkward shared glance between the detectives. "Thank you." Morse did a very polite but somewhat strained smile to define the end of their interrogation. When they got out of earshot, and were within the threshold of the shop did they utter another word.

Thursday outed it first.-"Someone impersonating an officer."

"I figured, sir." He said over the shop bell as they passed through the door. "They either thought they were taking the lot with them so they wouldn't reach the station to be put on file, they didn't know the shop keeper had more of them tucked away. The suspect could of intended to reuse them- after giving them a good washing." His hand dug in his pockets in thought. "A lot of trouble to go to get money, they're better off robbing the place, or better still get a job and earn it themselves."

The DI chuckled. "If that happened- we'd be all out of a job." They hastily approached their car. "These fraudsters have tack, and a lot bigger operation than we imagined. It could even be rival fraudsters, both sniffing each other's merchandise."

_That was a pretty big assumption, even for him._ Morse squinted against the gleam reflected off the car hood. "Criminal gangs in little old oxford."

"Don't you scoff- we've had loads of mobs popping up left, right and centre- you can make money illegally anywhere, Morse."

"I wasn't scoffing, sir." He slipped into the driver's seat. When he heard the passenger side door slam shut did he start the engine. "Station?"

"Jakes is at Joan's bank giving them a run through of the precautions. Someone attempted to rob the other bank this week, I wouldn't be surprised if they targeted them next."

"I'm sure she'll be fine, Sir." He spoke cagily as they pulled off the curb. _Why did you say that?_ It had been rather personal, he questioned his professionalism for even thinking about it- but his DI had started it all just by referring to the bank as 'Joan's'. He rapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He hoped Fred would comment on what he had said, or at least express a little fatherly concern. Alas he was 'at work', he had probably filed it away as a distraction. Which is probably what Morse should have been doing. But there was this nagging, someone knocking on the back door of his head.

"Eyes on the road, Morse." A drawl arose him from his trail of thought, and he jerked the steering wheel ever so slightly to put himself in the correct lane. "We better head down there to see if all's in order."

Morse would have done the same thing if it had been his relative at the bank. "Of course."He directed the car in the vicinity of the bank. Thursday had the door open before the car had parked, _he was keen_.

As usual DI Thursday walked in at a moderately fast speed, like he owned the place, fully wrapped up like he had come in from a storm. "Jakes." He called across the waxed floors. Morse spotted Jakes with his back to them, giving the bank staff a lecture, and not very discreetly. It was obvious the place was teaming with coppers. If a robber came in here now- he would have looked about, turned, and ran with their tail between their legs.

Morse lingered in the background to survey the room, and predict a robber's movements. He admired everything about these type of surroundings. The desks were polished, antique books adorned shelves, pens in their own inkwells, and beautiful interior with a lot of character_. Oh yes- the stuff of oxford._ The place had obviously received its weekly clean in the night, the buffer fluid and detergents were infiltrating his nostrils. Someone had been over zealous with their cleaning agents.

He assumed all the staff were present and at Jake's mercy, so you could imagine his surprise when a pair of legs emerged from around a screened section of the bank. A woman of average height turned to lock the place from where she had came, her dark hair pulled up into a neat beehive, if it hadn't been for the mini pleated skirt he would have mistaken her for a senior member of staff. The woman at a distance turned, before he even registered who it was- she gasped- "You." It echoed across to him. It was an understatement to say he was taken aback. _So she knew him- but what had he done to deserve such a greeting?_- His severe features softened when he placed the girl's face with that of Joan Thursday. _Having one's hair up really did wonders for her._

He narrowed his eyes, he had been staring. "Miss Thursday." He said with every ounce of professionalism he could muster. Her guard had been up when she had spotted him, but that left her once he had spoke. _How peculiar_. "DI Thursday is with me on business."

Her brow quirked towards her hairline. "You make that sound like you have been promoted above my father." Her drawl reminiscent of her old man. "Unless there is another Thursday on the force I don't know about?" She peered over to the cluster of staff. "Oh my father has a double…won't my mother be in for a treat." She bestowed him a half smile before carrying on down the corridor clutching at some files. He watched her like a hawk all the way to the horde of bank minions, he caught her give a small acknowledgement to her father who still had his work hat on. _For now, he wasn't her father._ DS Jakes momentarily stalled his lecture to leer at the new addition to his audience, the woman in question was unperturbed by this- maybe even basking in it. _The poor girl had to deal with this on a daily basis._

* * *

Endeavour had spent 90% of his time engrossed in his work, 5% on self grooming, 5 % on nourishment- _hm… well he did feel a bit peckish, I might still have that apple_. He let himself into the boarding house, and halted on the mat at the sight of another package. A sigh escaped him as he scooped it up- it rattled.

He took no time going into his flat and tearing into it like a ravenous animal. _Food_. It appeared lovingly prepared this time, opposed to just bought and thrown in willy-nilly. He rested it by his night stand ceremoniously, along with the new chocolate. He examined a tie that came with the goodies, it unravelled in his hand and released the odour of vanilla and opium. _Heavens above_. Instead of just silently admiring the aroma- he released a hum, it was probably in response to the sudden pang he got in his stomach and chest. He didn't get that feeling very often- it was as alien as dancing with no music.

The paper bag was still not empty- _good god, a card._ It was a little dented from extracting the other goods, but its very existence made it perfect. Upon looking inside the card he was left confounded. It was blank- apart from a printed inscription 'Get well soon.' _They knew_. Even though his wound wasn't an illness or a hindrance- they were aware, this wasn't a mistake or a prank. Alarm bells should have been ringing but he sank down onto his covers perplexed. Who other than the DI would know or even care about him, and not even want credit for this kindness?


	7. Chapter 7

Aah...Progress- what the hell is wrong with the borders on ?! They disappear!

* * *

They told her she couldn't leave her desk until she had completed the paperwork on the transactions for the day so far. So that's precisely what she was doing. Nothing would have removed her skirted buttocks from that creaky chair, not Ronnie, and especially some sergeant giving a talk on the risks of robbers- in banks. She had had this talk when she had started her job, _it was completely redundant_, _besides -Ronnie said he would rescue her_. Oh how she would titter.

She didn't really pay attention to the voices that echoed about the main hall, people came and went_- it was a bank after all!_ After about two hours of paper pushing, she rubbed at her neck in strain- time to stop. She uncrossed her legs and stood up at the desk. _What a mess she had made_. She hated administration, she preferred being the cashier, dealing with the customers- the work completed itself. Joan organised everything in chronological order. _Right, now to get it checked by her supervisor. _She did a single scooping action and everything collected into one pile in her hand. The pile's bottom was bashed on the table to perfect it. _Good, done._ She didn't like spending too much time on her own, she got a little sloppy when she wasn't being watched. Hopefully she had missed most of the lecture. She curved her body around the desk to fit through the gap to reach the door- to freedom.

The arrangement of the offices allowed for people sitting up or standing at the correct height to see over the panels and through the glass screens. So she wouldn't have been alarmed by anyone milling about in the hall. Joan stepped out the office and was about to take off in search of her supervisor. But remembering there was probably a civilian loitering not far from her, she dodged back to close her door and lock it as a precaution. She wasn't about to be undone by a robber posing as a civilian, especially due to the rise of thefts in the area. There was a pause between her discreetly removing the key from the lock and returning it to her pocket. Joan was having a déjàvu of that morning doing the same thing at the constable's boarding house. The civilian nearby had gone still and quiet- it was probably best not to just walk off ignoring them completely, she had intended to shoot them a fleeting smile before dismissing herself. So she looked. _Oh_. She was staring into the aristocratic face of Morse. "You." He reared back, his hands falling out of his pockets, making his trench coat tumble back into place. _Why was he here?- Did he know?- Was she under arrest for entering his boarding house?_ But if she didn't feel so indestructible she probably would have left sooner.

"DI Thursday is with me on business." He began at a pitched but groggy tone- as if he hadn't spoke for quite some time. It was probably this slip that made him come across less severe- for she really had thought she was in trouble. _Nothing to fear- it was just Morse, being Morse._

Joan felt like laughing, she composed herself. "You make that sound like you have been promoted above my father." She waited for him to fill the gap with a retort or an extension of his business call, but his face remained placid- but doe like. _Sigh_. "Unless there is another Thursday on the force I don't know about?" Her colleagues were bunched together, almost like a choir, listening to the two members of authority; _Aha there's Pops_. "Oh my father has a double…won't my mother be in for a treat." She bestowed him a half smile, which he mirrored back before she left for the main hall, keeping hold of her paperwork. The younger Thursday had tried to engage him, but as always he seemed reluctant.

She reached her fellow colleagues that were being subjected to a kind reminder of the dangers of armed robberies when- _Hello_. _The sleek haired foxy_ DS Jake's hooded eyes fell on her, and she tried her best not to flutter her eyelashes in the presence of her father. She had problems; despite her good breeding, she had a weakness for smartly dressed men. Joan would turn into a keen teenager against everything her mother had taught her. _Never be openly keen_, _and get recommendations or make inquiries through third parties._ Which is some bloody good advice.

* * *

The following morning- Morse waited, poised by his flat door- _on the inside of course_. If he dwindled from the hall side he would have raised suspicion. _No one would come when he was in_. He wiggled his fingers near the knob. _Or would they?_ He hadn't considered that maybe on every occasion he had had a package, they had originally intended to meet him in person. So maybe if he waited a little longer in the mornings- he would be fortunate to see them. He shot a glance at his clock on the wall, he was going to be late.

It crossed his mind as he put his trench coat on that the package could have been delivered during lunch hours- _maybe the person worked?_

There was the usual bumps outside, from other residents leaving their flats. _He wondered_. The constable hovered close to the door again. Heavy foot falls close to his door- not ones he associated with a young woman, reached his ears. He seized the doorknob and yanked it hard and fast. The matronly Ms French jumped and clutched at her chest, she glowered at him from her position in the hall. _Surely not_. He eyed her handbag swinging from her wrist, he had caught her mid stride. "Erm- Morning Ms French." Those words rarely left his lips- he self-consciously smiled, and she merely huffed a 'morning' and carried on down the landing. _Definitely not_. It was time to go, he couldn't leave the inspector waiting.

* * *

Morse pulled up near the Thursday's residence. Since he wasn't a taxi, he got out and lent on the hood. He didn't want to be faced with the awkwardness of waiting in the hallway of the household, which is why he didn't knock. They were expecting him, so he waited.

The inspector emerged from his household on time, clutching a bag containing his lunch. The younger gent scrutinized the bag, before filing its appearance away in his head. _Those bags were universal._"Morning, Sir."

"Morse." He didn't have much to say this morning, he budged into his seat, Morse clambered in simultaneously. "Give me a day when I can just lie in bed all morning."

Morse couldn't do that, and he didn't really have the nerve to comment on it. So the conversation was a little nonexistent as they brummed along. A shop on the high street caught his attention that sold perfume- and his mind went _there_. He must have had a severe look etched onto his face, because the voice of the inspector became very loud in his ear.

"-Well it must be bad, since you're prolonging my agony, my superior power means nothing when you've got something on the brain, please tell me it's a case."

"Sorry- it's-" He used his finger to gesture the cogs in his brain. "Processing." Leaving his face firmly set on severe. "I had another package at my flat yesterday." He added quickly, just to test if the inspector was interested.

"Did you now?" _Apparently he was interested._"You're not worried, are you?- A girl's giving you a bit of attention, is it too much for you to put a spring in your step?"

That was an odd thing to ask from him, but another thing struck him as odd. "Sir?- How do you know it's a girl?"

The inspector's brows furrowed. "Hadn't you already implied it was a girl?"He looked to the younger gent who was obviously racking his brains.

"It could be a boy, or a man. A prank." He shot him a funny sort of look.

Thursday had a feeling he was on to him. "What are you getting at?- Are you still insisting it's me- sorry- but no Morse." It was true. "But you could be right, there are men about who could seek your affections. But remember- you cleverly deducted that you're looking for a young female." He gave his sandwiches a good sniff in an effort to change the subject. "Cheese and pickle, but with brown bread- how unusual of win." He took a sneaky bite to test the new combination. "Still works."

Constable Morse still circumspect -looked to the road in front with narrowed eyes. The bag of mystery was folded neatly in his pocket.

* * *

Morse gathered himself and entered through the shop door- the bell jingled, so it wasn't as discreet as he would have liked, everybody looked up from their browsing. They would have seen a cautious young man strolling through the shelves, trench coat agape. A man on a mission. He ventured rather stiltedly to the _women's ablutions_ section, and waited. _For the majority of his life he has been waiting for something._ He couldn't face ringing the bell for service, luckily a dazed shop girl emerged from the back through some dangling door beads. "Hello, can I help you?"

"Well let's see." His hand motioned for his card. _Really? You're going to use it, now? _It was already open and words were tumbling out of his mouth as he mentally and morally bashed himself. "Detective Constable Morse, City Police." It seemed to have had a sobering effect on the girl. "I need you to identify this perfume." He yanked out the 'evidence' and meticulously unfolded it, he used a quick open hand jerk to open the hollow of the bag, and jabbed it in her face. She obliged.

"Vanilla." She said without any difficulties. "It's a very popular fragrance."

"-And opium?"

The girl became less than comfortable. "We don't sell that here, sir… it's a bad substance." She added for the benefit of the customers as well as the detective. "We are very careful about what is given to us."

"I'm sure you are, but this ingredient has been used regardless, it isn't illegal to use as an air freshener. I'm not here to report this or any businesses, I'm merely researching the brand of this perfume, and who is likely to buy it." He enunciated like he was talking to a fellow detective. "Do you have anything that fits the bill?"

"No." She stated, clearly already lost her patience. She served a customer that appeared at the till- which terminated his interrogation.

"Thank you." He uttered to no one and left. He must have had 'push-over' written on his face. He engrossed himself with the window display. The place was quaint, and had low stock- he figured the woman wouldn't have shopped here. As this thought arose he began to visualize the suspect, but in his head the figure remained faceless, _but blonde_, with kinky boots. _Why?_

Morse carried it with him past the launderettes and then recalled Pamela- 'the beautiful girl' who had used that place. He highly doubted it was her travelling many miles with her son in tow, to drop off gifts at his flat. _Though, she had been very grateful_. A smile lingered on his lips. Inconceivable. He reached a department store with a bit more class, and repeated his routine. This time his receiver was a maturer woman with a little more knowledge.

"Ah, Patchouli is known as the new hippie scent-of-choice, renowned for being used in King Tutankhamen's tomb." There was a bumping sound within the store, followed by a squeaking of glass being wiped, the retail assistant was briefly distracted, lowering her glasses on her nose.

"Ah, so it isn't vanilla?" Morse continued- trying to hold the topic.

"It has both, and very nice I must say." This must have been the most fun she had had in a while. "Patchouli and vanilla is a match made in heaven, don't you think?" She was keeping a firm grip on his bag.

"It's working on me all right." It was an honest answer- before he realized "On the woman that is, I don't mean I wear it myself." He tried blatantly as the woman judged him with her bespectacled eyes. _Moving swiftly on_-"Do you detect opium?"

"Why yes." She reared, easily excited. "It is an acquired cent, better in small doses- mixed well I think." She smelt the bag like it was a bouquet. "Unfortunately I don't have anything with that combination." She said in all seriousness. "Shame, I think it would sell as well." She returned his bag. "Sorry."

The constable gave her a patient nod. "I had a suspicion you wouldn't." He bid her goodbye and left the department. It was his route out which gave him a notion- he saw the opium incense sticks on a shelf. Maybe the opium wasn't part of the perfume at all, maybe it was the suspect's environment, or more strangely, the perfume was manufactured by the person themselves? He geared off in the direction of the tills clutching a box of incense sticks.

* * *

Joan needed to plan ahead. Save the mid-morning panic of buying what she needed for the bag, and then the hassle of dropping it off. _Varying the times of the drop-off might help?_- Since Morse might be becoming more alert on when she might be in the area. _Excited Joan?_ –_Wipe that smile off your face!_ He didn't strike her as the type to get palpitations over gifts. Perhaps bestow polite smiles or head nods of acknowledgement- nothing more- not even a stretch for a hug. It was worth talking to a friend about, a great conversation topic it would make. Alas, her night school friends weren't in the area, and her colleagues were having a brunch at the local pub. Plus, they would make fun of her. _Sigh_. She would have took a lunch with Ronnie. But Ronnie's friends were a bad influence on him- telling him things like 'take charge, pin her, keep an eye on her.' _Yikes_, if this was her generation of romancers, she wasn't sure she liked it. If she had a deep passion for Ronnie, the 'romance' might have worked- but she felt like a cat floundering in a bath tub.

She rummaged in her handbag for her change purse, the catch had worn away from extensive use, so it came open frequently. All the coins had fallen to the bottom of her bag. _Curses_. Joan was basically buried to her elbow in the bag, fiddling. She scooped what she could into her hand- and took a step into the revolving door of the department store. She froze. Morse was within shouting distance inside talking to a much older woman, clearly having a ball. She forgot and then remembered she was in a revolving door, so when she had froze the door had kept moving and she found herself bumped and pinned to the glass as the door continued to move her around. She turned so she was looking into the shop as she came back outside. That's where she was spat back out. Joan straightened her disheveled self, there was no need to fuss over a little detective in her regular shop. _Then why aren't you going back in, Joan?_

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_Review please- I like to watch the numbers go up._


	8. Chapter 8

My internet went down yesterday- a damn take-over by Sky from O2 is the cause. Inform me of any errors, hard to spot.

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This was her shop. This was her favourite shop. If anyone should leave- it should be him. She hastened back towards the entrance and stepped in-between the revolving doors, this time she was going in. A gust of air followed in her wake, Joan looked windswept by the time she reached the first set of shelves. Peering into one of the glass cabinets, her reflection made her gasp; strands of her once immaculate hair were either woven around her face, or sticking up. As any self- sufficient woman would; she desperately tried to correct her hair. The shelves gave her protection from the public, so she browsed while flattening her hair. Maintaining the beehive was the most important task. She both eyed the stock and looked out into the main shop. Morse was no longer at the perfume counter- but she hadn't encountered him leaving the shop either. _Calm down._ She picked up random things off the shelves, to give her the appearance of someone shopping. A studious shop assistant nearby- she noted was the same one that had been chatting to the constable, she was now alone and looking for a task. Her-

"Is there something particular you are looking for?" The woman tried to look as accommodating as possible; she must have been suspicious of the 4 bottles of hand cream in Joan's mitts.

The youth half smiled. "Fine." She milled by, looking with false curiosity at the display. It wasn't long before the assistant was directly behind the display. Ready to hassle.

"Would you like to have a sample of this, miss?" The woman's enthusiasm was invaluable to her work. So much so; Joan was drawn right up to the perfume in her hand. "Just a little puff?"

She didn't have to be asked twice, Joan gave her an assertive smile and pulled back one of her sleeves. _Puff_. The woman was a little heavy handed, the mist didn't only drench her wrist, but the cuff as well. It only took a second for her to realise her decision had not been wise; the smell was musky and thick with chemicals that didn't belong in a fragrance- more like under a kitchen sink. Joan was polite enough not to draw back in revulsion, instead she wafted it under her nose like sniffing a wine cork. "Not sure if this is really me. Perhaps someone more mature and sophisticated would benefit this." The woman needed something more- she was obviously a philosopher of aromas, and wanted to be engaged with the customer. "It has a very… manufactured smell, kind of like an… oppressed woman of…society….conforming to… modern times." _Damn, a little deep. _The woman was staring at her like she was an alien. Then one side of the woman's face began to twitch. _Oh dear lord, she had given her a stroke. _A smile erupted from the creases.

"That was marvellous; you work in advertising, do you not?- If you don't- then you must." Joan opened her mouth to retort but the assistant continued. "You have the making of… something, a scholar, an independent women's movement, or better still… a prime minister_." _It was preposterous thinking all this came from a load of words strung together in a sentence; which did actually make sense. And had applied to that perfume; the perfume was so unnatural. "Maybe this was your way of proving you have the credentials for a job in retail…"_Calm down- this wasn't an audition._"Tell me, have you ever lead a campaign? You would make a lovely candidate."

Joan tried to laugh it off. "I have a job. I think I have a lot on my plate right now, completely unrelated, youthful, non-political things such as; what my wages will go on, and what will I make for dinner?" She was trying to distance herself from the counter, and the conversation all together. "When I say make for dinner- I mean as a feminist- make my own dinner and nobody else's." Her own laugh was getting on her nerves. "But making somebody else's dinner isn't beneath me. It's basic life skills…"She wasn't the type to ramble or stumble on her own words, but when she did, it wasn't unintelligible. Which was worse, because no one would feel sorry for her, because she sounded too headstrong and proud. "As for the perfume, I know that real women want to smell like nature, get away from that urban man-made smell." She had to disengage from this soon, before she aroused a debate among the other customers. "Good day." She smiled sincerely and walked as speedy as she could to the exit. She would have to lie a little low for awhile, or wait for the ghastly perfume to wear off before she could shop here again.

"Miss…"

She could still hear the woman in her ear, trying to beckon her back to the counter. Joan's mind was set, _don't acknowledge anyone until you're out of the store_. The department had once been quiet and fairly empty, but now, people were popping out of everywhere- raised voices erupted from aisles_. Was this caused through her?_ She wasn't going to stay to find out. What happened next played out in a matter of seconds. Joan reached the revolving door in earnest- something as swift as a bat followed her in- it shadowed her as the door carried her to the pavement. _Strangers didn't normally share a revolving door compartment_- this panicked her. Joan tried to step outside, but the stranger suddenly snared her arm- and uttered. "Miss Thursday don't reach the point of no return."

She didn't know Morse's voice all that well, but right there- she had a niggle of familiarity_. A Niggle was putting it mildly- more like a complete stoppage of the heart._ Under any other circumstances she would have been pleased to see him. Joan avoided spinning around and acknowledging him like the day before; very melodramatic and thoughtless. But she had every right to be alarmed now, since he was preventing her leaving a rather awkward situation_. How is it that someone who has minimal social skills is capable of handling and addressing her like this?_- _A_ _Policeman, oh yes he was a plod._ Instead of internally monologue-ing her reasoning, she did what she did best; Venting- out loud.

"Why do you chose now of all times to do what you consider a duty?" Shrugging self-consciously out of his grasp, she failed. Joan finally clapped eyes on him, shrewdly. Stark blue eyes met hers.

"You can't expect any specialist treatment, Miss Thursday, the laws the law." He oozed confidentially. It wasn't just what he had said that had annoyed her, but his tone- and the fact he was using her family name to reinforce what he had said. She saw the assistant was strolling towards them, full of pride. _Oh god they were both in on it, they were recruiting._ The urge to roll her eyes was unbearable.

"Is it a crime to take part in a loud discussion in a department store?" Joan looked from one to the other, but reserved her scathing eyes for Morse. It seemed to throw him off what he was about to say, the creases between his brows were highly visible, not to mention his nasolabial folds.

Starting to believe that she really had done something wrong, she tried -"Haven't you heard of the freedom of speech act?" It was a last resort.

"Clearly you haven't heard of theft?" He gave off a straight-lipped smile before dipping his head to indicate to what was incriminating her.

Joan looked downwards, and to her horror she was still clutching the hand lotions. Her face fell, humiliated and worried about her reputation, she took an extended blink and sigh. "I forgot I was holding them." She handed them grudgingly to the waiting hands of the woman. "Sorry." She uttered, nearly believing it herself. "I was distracted." She glanced up at a couple of very undeterred faces. "Well I was!" She calmed herself. "And I'm willing to reimburse for any anguish I may have caused you." She added rather stilted. Joan rummaged through her handbag to delay her trial and sentencing.

There was a stony silence, one not helped by the fact the constable was just not acting- he had become switched off; lazily holding his jacket in his arm, hand in pocket. It was as if they were waiting for her to add any further comment to incriminate herself. She had had enough. _Time to get sassy_. They must have heard her deep breath- both stood to attention. "Okay, do you want me to apologise for disturbing the peace on top of theft?" She believed Morse thought she was talking to the assistant, since he was somewhat puzzled when confronted with a less than impressed young Thursday.

"Oh- erm." A sudden flicker of something unprofessional crossed the detective's features, he masked it well by skimming a hand by his face. "Did you want to press any charges?" He directed at the bespectacled woman.

"No, I do believe she spoke the truth about…getting distracted."

A weak smile erupted on Joan's face. "Thank you- it won't happen again, good day." She was about to stroll off into the sunset when _that long arm of the law_ lay upon her again.

"At least buy something before you leave." He said in hushed tones, and she felt compelled to oblige. _But she also felt obliged to kill him, but she wouldn't act out on that without incurring the wrath of her father._

Joan handed over 10 shilling and took a hand lotion from the assistant. "Thank you, and keep the change." Hopefully that would prove her innocence, and the fact she wasn't stingy. Joan turned on her heel and hastily left the shop, and power walked up the high street. But she couldn't shake off the feeling she was being tailed by a detective constable. She spun around so fast her small beehive wobbled. "What?"

"You should have let me escort you off the premises, it wasn't proper of you to just walk out so freely- I'm supposed to give you a caution."

She folded her arms. "Go on then, I'm listening." She heard a slight nasal huff from him. _The policeman in him must have left,_ _maybe he left it back in the shop?_ –He appeared to have returned to his sheepish self, the one she had first encountered at the house. "My, you have a way with words."

"What can I say that you haven't already heard from your father?"

_Damn. He had her- and he knew it._ "Did your inspector tell you about the wrongs of blackmail?"

It was hard to tell what he thought of that, his face always remained dead-pan. But surely that meant he didn't want to convey something. _Fear_? He smiled gently. _Maybe not_.

"I can be trusted, I'm not easily corruptible." He began. "If you think my mention of your father was me attempting to black mail you then, I'm sorry- that's not what I intended at all. I was just insinuating- I don't think you need a caution- after all you must have grew up with codes of conduct bellowed into your ear. I would have cautioned you in the shop, and it would have just been for display."

Joan blinked. "So you're not going to report this to my father?"

Morse shook his head. Her face became less harsh- her anger had been soothed away. She opened her mouth about to comment on her task for the day- but realized it was supposed to be kept a secret _from him_, so she rapidly closed her mouth. _That was close._ She noted he had not spoken in order to let her speak, _what an endearing trait; obedience._

"Then I suppose I won't report you to your inspector."

"What did I do exactly to warrant a report in the first place?" Morse asked somewhat bemused.

"Nothing, yet." She smirked as she received a double take from the constable. _He did that a lot to_. "Don't let me take up any of your free time, you had your lunch?" Before adding-"You do eat?"

She wasn't sure if he was pretending to have not heard her, he awkwardly looked anywhere but her."Hm?"

If Joan had been asking him out- _which she wasn't_, she would have been terribly disappointed. The younger Thursday now understood this was probably his way of turning people down, or refusing to give them an answer. _Perhaps that ghastly perfume was a repellent_? So she politely nodded in understanding. "Ah, you're in the middle of an investigation, then I'll say no more." She bid him a casual farewell before leaving him to his own devices.

Her handbag swung on her wrist as she nipped into a grocery store, inspired to buy the detective a bigger bar of chocolate. But she didn't have any idea if he ever consumed what she got him.

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Review vvvv


	9. Chapter 9

It's a late update, probably best to stagger it a bit. I'm cast-member of a play- so I've had a final rehearsal, two evening shows and a matinee to contend with. Anyway read and review.

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Morse needed to sort out his priorities. His focus was supposed to be on the true investigation - the fraudsters, but it remained on the case of the miscellaneous bag. He had retreated into a place that only he had control- his mind. Once it was set, he had to see it through to the bitter end. The opium incense sticks rested in his pocket, and paid for. Morse hopped down the store's stairs as speedily and as smoothly as his slight but lanky form could allow. As he approached the revolving doors he adjusted his tie that had gone wayward with the draft. Though he was mindlessly preening himself, he had not shut down his refined hearing, he caught the end of what he believed was an uncomfortable conversation. He glanced up and around as some babble broke out nearby, customers referring and indicating to a young woman who was hastily walking away from the perfume counter. His brightly curious eyes trailed on her, finding her gait and facial expression fascinating. Her face belonged to _the occasionally obedient Miss Thursday. So we cross paths again? _He held back from leaving the store, and more interestingly- held back entirely from approaching her. Her pace suggested she had no intention of stopping for anyone. _What could have got her into such a state?_ The shop assistant 25 yards away was trying to get around the counter.

"Miss...?"

Morse glanced at the studious assistant; their eyes met. "The Miss hasn't paid..." It was partly announced to all, but directed at him. Miss Thursday had reached the revolving door. He felt like a super trouper was on him; his mind heard a drum roll, and constable's hat dropped on his head. It was his job to collar- and a very good excuse to stop a Thursday. He swept towards the door- she had just passed him. In fact she had passed under his arm as he was about to halt the door. _Bugger!_ He stepped into the space behind her instead, and grappled at her turquoise coat sleeve. A strong perfume caught his nostrils, one that didn't suit her- if his opinion counted. He gave her both an instruction and reassurance as he steered her back inside, noting the hand lotions that she clutched freely in one hand. If this had been a theft, it was a very poor attempt- no concealment whatsoever. And her exit was not exactly urgent, but fast enough to give the impression she didn't want to get caught. So it was a pity he had. With hope, he would be able to straighten out this wrongdoing.

Then she spoke- _'twas not the voice of an angel that left her lips, more like a scorned young woman_. The words were mature, but her tone not so much. Her voice he found was pitched deliberately to make her sound older. He had no idea why this amused him, but he sobered when she tried to jerk from him. _You're on duty_.

* * *

"...Then he said; I want your knickers at your ankles." There was a load of hooting from the men at the bar. Joan wished she hadn't heard, she felt like turning back around and leaving- unfortunately Ronnie spotted her, and beckoned her over. She stifled a grimace as she approached the men's table- they all grew a little wary of their guest. But the main man of the table continued regardless-"And she said; Hang on, I'll get them out of my handbag first." They roared, not holding back on such a punch line. Actually that was a little funny. But Joan laughing at such a coarse joke might give them the impression she was 'that kind of girl', and they would continue with this barrage of smut. Perhaps a small titter to prove she wasn't a prude. Joan shielded her mouth in order to do a geisha type of laugh. They seemed to shift in her direction, no longer turning a shoulder at her.

"So you're the girlfriend?"

She turned to gauge him. "I'm the girl he has been seeing yes. We have already met, Martin, is it?"

He scratched his head. "Oh god yeah, sorry I was a bit kaylied."

"I know." She said with less enthusiasm. "You dumped a load of pork scratching in my handbag."

Martin covered his mouth in mock guilt. "Oh yeah- really sorry." She was going to scratch his eyes out. "It's alright, right?"

"Yeah fine- It's hanging on the washin-"A drink was spilled nearby, and Joan automatically stood up to avoid getting splashed. There was cheering and clapping as if a goal had been scored. Joan was really trying to keep her patience. Ronnie was highly amused by any and everything- barely noticing his female friend's discomfort. She remained standing till the barmaid had come to mop up the mess and collect the broken glass, the girl received a playful smack on the derrière for her efforts. Joan ended up apologising on their behalf. It was ridiculous. If there was an equal number of girls about, she would have been laughing, the sexism would have been counter balanced. _Alas, she was very much alone - like a virgin in a brothel.__  
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"I have an errand to run, you won't mind if I leave you?" She uttered in Ronnie's ear over the commotion.

He twisted fully towards her, looking reproachful. "Why, does your family always have need for you?- Can't they manage?"

"These things you have to understand…"

"What?" Nobody heard or cared about their little indiscretion, they were too busy drowning in drink.

"My family comes first." She stood up, and he placed a rough hand to her, it was heavy and could have torn her jacket, she looked down upon the threat with judging eyes. Knowing full well that this could develop into an abusive relationship. Compared to the arm grab she had received earlier on in the day, the law were a little less malicious. "Careful Ronnie." She said in warning.

"Is that it?"

Not fully understanding what he was questioning, she answered to both. "Yes, that is all you need to know." Some had gone quiet around them to listen; she wasn't having any of it. "Go back to your drinks!" She jerked out of Ronnie's hold, and it came away freely. She took the opportunity to walk out with dignity. But the heavy footfalls behind her suggested she wouldn't be going quietly into night. Ronnie rushed to be at her side. "Go back to your mates, Ronnie, I'm sure they'd prefer your company."

Ronnie sounded desperate, but his hiss gave off anger. "Can't I drink with my mates when I like? Why can't I get your company when I like- is that so hard?" He paused for effect. "Why don't you talk about your life? Is there some other man you're seeing? Is that why you're running off all the time?" He tried to jab her, break her fast walk.

Joan continued to walk at her own pace; she didn't even look at him. "You've said a lot, which do you want me to try and answer first?" If she left it just at that he's bound to get suspicious. So she turned sharply, her face set hard. "My family want me to help one of my dad's colleagues if you must know…" It rolled out of her mouth surprisingly easily. "They're sick." That less so. "They have issues."

"Why is that your problem?"

Joan hadn't a clue, it must have been her family's idea of a joke, and they were just prolonging it by turning it into a ritual for her. They weren't inquiring into how she was getting on, or giving her advice. It was all her_. Inconvenient? - Strangely…not at all, it was becoming…fun_. After her prolonged silence, she uttered. "It's to help my dad deal with them when they're at work, they're in higher spirits." _Really, is that what it's all for?_

Ronnie merely laughed. "It sounds like you're being pimped out."

Joan raised her brow- should she laugh? She smiled. "Come to think of it, it does, but nothing of the sort is happening. It's just innocent sandwich making, and ironing blouses, those sorts of things. Tedious." She threw in blouses to give the impression it was a woman she was looking after. It seemed to work.

"I suppose you got to get some practice?..." He chipped in. It brought the conversation to a close, except-

"What do you mean…get some practice?" Her voice mirthless, and on the verge of fury.

Ronnie was no longer smiling. He obviously knew he was in trouble. "What?"

"Because in future I'll be doing that a lot…it'll be my day job, is that what you're saying?" It felt like a good excuse to jump on the feminist band wagon. "One minute you think I'm seeing another man, next you're pleased I'm using my free time doing housework. Everything that leaves your mouth nowadays absolutely infuriates me!" Steam expelled from her nostrils after that, finally concluding with something she should have said ages ago.

It must have sunk in; Ronnie was quiet and very glum looking. "Wow, interesting." He took a prolong breath. "Has this been your opinion for some time now? It answers why you've always been a bit frigid towards me…You give me nothing, it's like flogging a dead horse."

The word 'sorry' crossed her mind, but referring to her as frigid because she wasn't enthusiastic towards him, was logically accurate- but he somehow made it sound like an insult. _Another reason he infuriates me._ "This doesn't help your case, the reason our relationship is lacking is because we have different interests."

"Please explain." He forced her to stop, dragging her into the curb.

She scoffed at his ignorance. "I want to help my family, and develop a career for myself, by myself. You on the other hand, want to impress your family and your friends, and don't give a damn about your career."

"I work at a bank! How much higher can you get?!" He gestured profusely at his attire, and their environment; the corner shops and the benches. "You could have a lad that stocks shelves."

Her handbag was close to becoming a medieval mace. "But you don't expect anything more, you fell into this job through- god knows what! You've just settled into a routine of… dragging your feet and knuckles at work. Then come Friday, your wage slip comes and you invest it on booze with your drinking buddies, oh - and hair gel!" For a second she noticed him tighten his jaw, and threateningly raise his hand as if about to slap her. Her shoulder came up, she never thought she would have to do that; flinch in the company of her boyfriend. But she had, and it furthermore convinced her if this relationship continued, she would be living a life of recoiling from the man she thought she loved. "I want to go home." She wasn't implying anything, so she walked away.

"Fine. We'll talk in the morning." He went back to the pub, dismissing her completely. Well she had dismissed him first. But she wasn't going to protest about his lack of chivalry, _he was a prick- he would feed her to the dogs._


	10. Chapter 10

Before anyone comments- events are not necessarily taking place in the right order of how they were in the show. But the events that occurred still take place as a back drop for this story.

* * *

Joan didn't shed any tears that night. That would have been as out of character as her running into Ronnie's arms and begging for forgiveness. The best thing for a girl in her situation to do- was to move on as swiftly and as respectably as possible. _Which she did very well…_she thought, as she shamelessly scoffed on some chocolate. The very same chocolate she had originally bought for Morse. Soon as the last segment had passed her lips, she was filled with not only sadness that she didn't have any more confectionary to savour, but she had selfishly eaten someone else's supplies- and neglected her duties. _She was a bad person_.

Joan played some '45s' on the record player, and grooved on her own in her room. Her brother wasn't too happy about that, he wanted to use that player. So after she had burned sufficient energy, she fell into bed and occupied her thoughts with DS Jakes. _She was a bad person._

* * *

Morse was sat still in his armchair listening to his records, a set of his knuckles were pressed against his mouth in thought. A package hadn't been left today, so it was worth a good think as to why. _Perhaps the person has caught onto to their mistake?_ This disheartened him, as it would anyone. The idea that these meticulously planned packages had been for somebody else, and he wasn't so fortunate to have someone that cared in that way was… _depressing._ _Don't dwell on it, move on_. He stood up with some gusto, the draft moved everything in the room. Endeavour ironed a shirt or two to distract himself, it didn't work. Instead he propped his appliance up, and dithered over his board clothed only in his vest and boxer shorts. _Maybe, they only wished to leave a few packages?-Unless it was Ms French?_ The scare he had given her could have caused the strike.

His shirts smelled scorched. _What was he doing wrong?_ He didn't fret over them long, he hung up his attire for the morning, then paced - scrutinizing his previously received gifts that were displayed on his shelf. Unworn, but not necessarily uncared for. He felt wearing them was like accepting defeat, it was funny how things formed in his head. He would feel more inclined to wear them if he knew who had given them to him, but having them being seen was discomforting in itself- _they weren't for the world, they were his_.

* * *

The constable echoed his movements of the night before in the morning- he hoped to iron out the scorched smell with- further ironing. _What the hell- iron the boxers as well._ The familiar hiss and rise of steam filled the room. He was a late riser this morning, and he wasn't bothered in the slightest. His workload in the office was fairly light, considering he was in the grips of three cases now; fraudsters, a hit and run, and some unusual activity at a local night club. _He could connect these somehow, he was capable of solving this on his own._ But DI Thursday was holding back on some information, linking to his past dealings with a certain criminal- who happens to run the night club. The night club was run by management clearly linked to organized crime, Morse could feel it tingling in his detective senses. The ambiance of the place was seedy, and modern- a little too modern for his liking. The employees were a tremor with fear of the management, but obedient to no end, not willing to co-operate with the likes of him, as Morse had found out.

He toyed with the idea of wearing 'the tie' and 'pin', it was as fleeting as the steam from his iron. And then the idea was gone. He took hold of one his old ties and knotted it into place- all the while staring at himself in the mirror. He needed little effort on his appearance since he wasn't employed to be atheistically pleasing to eye, _which he wasn't anyway._ Endeavour didn't style the dirty blond hair on his head, nor did he have a moustache to trim- so he cleanly and closely shaved. And he didn't wear aftershave often enough for him to give off a signature aroma. He could only imagine the tedious routines of other men trying to desperately put themselves into the trendy circle.

The young constable ventured out of his flat before 8, and tripped on nothing on the way out- _so no new package then._ His assigned car waited out in the cold for him to utilize and warm. As perusal, he made no human contact until he reached the inspector's house. Morse pulled up just as the red door opened, obviously they had been spying through the window for his arrival_- hardly unnerving at all._

He partly scrambled out of his seat in order to greet the inspector officially, he hadn't counted on the older gent being halfway up the path before he had the chance to put the brakes on. It was deathly cold outside, his nose clogged from the onset of runniness and instant cooling.

"Morse."

"Morning, Sir." He was on the cusp of debriefing his superior when someone else made themselves known in the doorway of the house.

Ignoring Morse's rather bewitched look- the inspector persevered- "I tried putting her on a bus- she wouldn't have it, so I negotiated with her into riding with us, we'll drop her off at the bank." He worded it like it was business- until his voice broke- "Come on Joan, don't dawdle!" He was already around the side and sliding in before he could see his daughter shut the front door.

Morse stood there rather put out because he had turned into a taxi. His attitude changed when he saw her hesitate upon clocking him, she was about to start down the driveway when was struck with surprise _- did she forget he drove her father? _In that moment she became her age- and the awkwardness passed after a seconds eye contact. _That was unusual_. He felt his cheek burn from the cold, that, and the pained smile that was creeping to his features, but it was concealed when he dipped his head. Since he had been bred to be courteous towards the fairer sex, he dithered just to quickly unclick the door for her. "Morning." It rolled off his tongue.

Joan clicked by in her low heels, and dropped down the curb to buddle herself into the back. Her eye line was in-between himself and the door. "Morning." She half sung, the awkwardness still clogging the air. The constable recorded her fully seat herself, even as he closed the door for her. Just casually viewing her in the back- he could see her smoothing down her skirt, and tugging her waistcoat across her breasts- _Was this her usual routine?_ He deducted she thought he was a lecherous man- _Probably shouldn't have been so courteous_. It was Endeavour's descend into the car that he noticed a quick exchange between father and daughter, that was squelched by him sitting into the driver's seat. _Something was up._

They were brumming along the high street when he was reminded of the department store incident, which could have put Morse in Joan's bad books. _But him and Miss Thursday hadn't exactly parted on bad terms that day_. So her awkwardness could be through sheer fear he could let something slip to her father. _Miss Thursday, don't you know I'm good at keeping secrets?_ He shot her another glance through the rear view mirror, there wasn't much trace of discomfort in her features, her anxiety must have passed.

"Stop off here a moment, I'm just going to nip to the shops." The inspector's voice rung from the passenger side. Just before he departed the car, there was another silent exchange between the family, followed by a strange sense that the constable had walked into a trap. Silence ate away into the parked car. Morse aired this out by rolling down the window then back up again- it killed about a second before he focused on something on the horizon, conscious of the legs pushing into the back of his seat. _Was that to remind him she was there?_ He knew alright.

"Haven't seen you at the house lately?- Have my family scared you off?" It was an attempt to wean him into a decent conversation.

He avoided looking in the mirror for fear of his mouth going dry."Oh, erm no." His voice broke from lack of use. "-No… I've been on general duties." He nodded to assert this. _Well that's a start._

"Was Peter there this morning?" She chimed not long after his response.

He immediately started prizing apart her query. "Sergeant Jakes you mean? He's got called." Being brief, this was deliberate- he had no interest in the man.

A single feminine huff of laughter reached his ears."You don't give much away, do you?"

"Er-Don't think I'm meant to, am I?" He mumbled very incoherently at the steering wheel, realizing this wasn't a conversation at all, he was being pumped for information. "It's work, you know-" Morse saw movement in one of his wing mirrors, sighting the inspector leaving the shop.

"Oh, I know." She droned rolling her eyes, he sensed she was trying to relate to him in the pretext of confidentiality with clients at work. Morse was getting geared for the inspector's arrival when he heard Miss Thursday creak forward in her leather seat, and in all confidentiality asked. "Is he still with that Sandra?"

"Who? Jakes?" He was incredulous- didn't have a clue, _and why does she have to ask after that vagabond?_ The constable's brow lowered as he finally looked directly into the rear view mirror at her. Clunk.

"Never mind." She uttered as her father's footfalls reached optimum level outside.

DI Thursday had opened the door and expelled the tense air from the car. She sat back as if nothing had transgressed. "All out of string, had to make do with ribbon." He looked over the two of them- convinced he had missed something, he wasn't hard of hearing."Never mind what?"

The question wasn't for the young detective, so he remained obtuse – _she could take the fall, after all, she was the one chasing the wrong kind of man._

Luckily the young Thursday was obliged to speak, it was _her_ father who had asked."Work, if you must know I was asking about work." _If you say so_. Morse listened intently to her matter-of-fact manner, she was a very convincing liar, probably a trait a father wouldn't be too proud of- she would make an exceptional criminal. _Maybe she did try to steal that lotion_? "And he's the same as you- it's like getting blood out of a stone." He focused on the floor mat, shrugging it off. _True_.

"Quite right." A flicker of a smile was observed by the constable on the inspector, the elder was proud of him. "Any case I thought you weren't the type to be gassing it, you can walk it from here, can't you? Save us going up the one way."

_Good old Thursday._ He couldn't help but smile at this. A good walk isn't just to maintain one's figure_- not that she needed it,_ but to also clear one's head- _which she did need_. Miss Thursday's choice to fraternize with the enemy had put a slight downer on this already depressing day. _Why should you be bothered?_ He needed to think outside of the box; if girl's like her can go for coppers- then maybe there's hope for hi- _Jesus, he was going there._ If he had been driving at the time he would have put the brakes on. That was a rather fanciful notion- but what he probably meant was if high-maintenance girls like her could tie themselves to someone with a little more discipline, then maybe there was hope for the human race. _Better_. He nodded to himself with that strange pained smile of his.

"Right well… while you try to shake him out of it, I'd better take my leave." Miss Thursday directed her retort at no one in particular, _but mainly her father_, and shuffled across the leather seating. "Thanks for half the lift!"

"-Oh hahaha...nicely please if you want picking up."

"Who says I want to be picked it?" She replied briskly, rapping her fingers impatiently on her handbag.

"After last night, no, I'm not having you traipsing in at 10 at night." Giving her a tone, one as equally as brisk. The younger gent was both uncomfortable and fascinated."I know something happened, after the mood you were in, you won't say anything- but I know when something's heating up my little girl-"

"-Pops." Becoming fretfully embarrassed.

Her father was adamant. "And I'll make sure you're driven straight home."

Endeavour was wondering if that was a hint. Their private discussion was becoming work related by the sound of it, all sorts of criminal offences were crossing across his mind that could have been the reason for Miss Thursday's distress last night. He just hoped it wasn't because he had very nearly arrested her the day before. He was met with a look of indifference from the young female, from this he could tell she had been thinking just that_._ _Oh dear._ And he couldn't reassure her, not in front of her father- that would defeat the whole purpose of secrecy.

She inclined towards her father and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. It was just bad timing that Morse got a tickle in his throat, and grunted to clear it. _Bugger- no- that wasn't a hint._ She threw him a glance and he diverted his gaze to the gear stick.

"Morse." She said in courtesy, and dusted her father's shoulder as she clambered out into the high street. And the woman was gone- but not entirely, her energy still left an impression on the detective's face.

"Anything in last night?" His DI inquired oblivious. _Back to business_.

* * *

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	11. Chapter 11

Okay this has been uploaded unbeta-ed. The doc manager keeps making the page dividers invisible...

* * *

Endeavour had had some discomforting news. His father was ill at home, and during a gripping case as well. A little inconvenience when it came to his work, since his home was all the way across the country, it might as well have been in _a different country_. Morse analysed the list of suspects, and a list of cars. _Good old Constable Strange!_

Nothing could take away the niggle in the back of his head, not even a scratch. Something was burrowing into the back of his mind, _an idea, a thought?_ It had been there since he was in the car that morning, it was now late afternoon and it was still there. _Was it about Jakes?_ At that same moment the detective sergeant walked past his desk and knocked over his pencil pot and a sheet of paper._ You bugger_. Jakes was that engrossed with his cigarette, he didn't notice the destruction he had left in his wake. Morse chuntered to himself as the moment passed, and Jake forever remained oblivious- _so it hadn't been intentional._ The niggle in his mind travelled to his chest_. Was it a matter of the heart?_ The case flashed through his mind, he needed to visit some houses, and some cars. His raincoat was in his hand, and he was out of the department before he even started to put it on. If only he had waited just a moment longer- DI Thursday emerged from his office, he glanced over to a recently vacant desk.

"Where's Morse?"

"Who knows?- He's probably sniffed out another clue." There was some mutual amusement shown between the two gents, before that came to an end as the inspector commented-

"He's probably sniffed out another clue, 'Sir'."

"Err, sir- of course, sir." He added briskly, feeling embarrassed- as you would. "Was there anything needed to be done?"

Inspector weighed the idea in his head before realizing he needed somebody to do it now, and he couldn't plonk all responsibility on a young man who was supposed to be on compassionate leave. "I'm going to a meeting, I need a man to nip to the bank- pick up my daughter and take her home, do you think you can do that?"

"Yes- certainly, sir!" Like a lap dog he bombarded the coat stand. "Is she expecting anybody?"

"Probably not you, but an escort, yes."

* * *

Her father never forgot, nor did he break promises. Joan noted compact powder on the toe of her mary janes, _how did that get there_? She paused mid stride to shine her shoe on the back of her tights. She had used her lunch break to purchase Morse's things before dropping them off. It was the end of the day now, all she had to do was manage another unsuspicious trip with Morse and her father back home. She stood at the curb, an unfamiliar car pulled up. Her defenses went up. When the foxy DS Jakes leaned into view, a bashful smirk adorned her features. "Picking up strange girls now I see, is this part of your duties?

He revealed a set of pearly whites. "Strange- Just my type, I'll give you a lift home." He clicked the passenger side open.

So tempting she thought. Joan was angry at what she was about to say next. "Actually I'm expecting a lift from my father or his driver."

This made the sergeant laugh out loud. "Driver eh? That's just what he is." He settled back in his seat. "Your dad has given me the honour of driving you home."

"Oh." She didn't know her father could be so accommodating to provide her with her crush. _Well it was unintentional._ She dazzled him with a smile as she clambered in. It wasn't often she got to ride in the front, but it won't be the scenery that will be keeping her occupied. "How's Samantha?"

He clicked with his chops, wincing, exposing all those white teeth. "Aaa…don't see her so much anymore, since we broke up."

"Oh I am sorry." Not certain she was, she fiddled with her skirt- checking her thigh wasn't showing- she didn't want to give off a seductive vibe with her next hint. "Looks as if we're both going through the broken heart mill."

* * *

Joan danced alone in her room again. But this was no mourning groove, but a celebratory groove. She had one of her favourite mini dresses on, and an arm bangle to impress the sergeant. She scooped up a bottle of her perfume. _Damn she had ran out_, _she would have to acquire some more tomorrow._ She managed a tiny drip on her wrist and tried to spread it where necessary. Her mother knew she was going out, her brother… didn't.

"Oh no- is it that time of year again?" Her brother winced when he clocked her mini dress on the stairs. "All hallows eve?"

She blasted a sarcastic laugh into the air. "I was just about to say the same thing to you. Expecting any friends around to do a séance in the front room? Wrong time of year isn't it?"

"No... you have arisen from the crypt."

For dramatic effect she flicked the lights on and off. "Ooo- it's starting!"

Her mother saw the erratic lighting and came into the hall to investigate. "What's all this commotion?- Stop that." She tapped her daughter lightly on the wrist to stop her fiddling. "You're old enough to know better." She gave her a good mother's leer. "You look…nice." Her mother may have bought the dress when her daughter was younger, but her legs had gotten longer since then, and the hemline was halfway up her thigh. "Why is there a bangle half way up your arm?"

"It's the fashion, mum, it's all the rage in London."

"I see." Her mother stared at her for a bit longer. "If girls start wearing shoes on their hands in London, will you follow suit?"

"Yes she ruddy would." Her brother left it at that and went off into the other room, Joan followed him with begrudged eyes.

"He's just jealous he hasn't got any plans." Joan said to no one in particular.

"Maybe he could come with you?" Her mother suggested quietly.

"-No!" Joan shot her mother down before calming herself. "I mean, it wouldn't be his scene- and why would a brother go with his sister on a girls night out?.."

"Protection?" Her mother inputted with every intention of supporting her idea.

"I would be protecting him, everybody knows he's the inspector's son." She tried to sway her mother with fear. "I'll be in the company of friends- what trouble could I get into?" She was going to be with a policeman- _how safe can you get?_ "I'm going to be late." She breezed through the front door, her mother was in tow.

"Keep out of the lower end of town."

_What?_ Joan spun on her heel. If she argued about the matter then her mother would know she would ignore it, or even imply she had already been there. "You know I'll play it safe."

Mrs Thursday beamed at her. "Good." The door closed slowly enough for her to wave.

Joan turned to face the night, she clicked down the iced road in her shiny heels, further away from the security of home and towards adulthood. A familiar car pulled up- and the foxy Jakes' face filled the window. She clambered in after a couple of flattery exchanges. Her hands automatically adjusted her skirt when seated.

They drove down to the lower end of town. She was like a nervous race horse when she spotted the moonlight rooms club through the windscreen. The grand lighting saturated the street, that and the distant hum of people. Her father had warned her about this club- he had never said why it was a bad place. _Probably every night club was a bad place for his daughter?_ She had frequented shops and other bars in the area, but never had the right company to go into this place. _Ronnie wouldn't have taken her here._ _But it looks as if she was finally going dancing,_ _with live music, and with a copper at that. _Before he got out of the car, he looked over to survey her face -to see if the place was enough to impress the inspector's daughter. Joan nearly rolled out of the car, her eagerness to dance her shoes off was that intense.

She hooked an arm around his so they linked, better to be identified as dates than single, she didn't want to attract prowlers. They blended in fairly well, they were in their casual best attire, and no one was alone, everybody had someone to drink, or dance with. Everyone was occupied, no one would ever know she was a newcomer. Joan looked up in awe at the band that was preparing to perform, the cellist acknowledged DS Jakes. _Oh my god Peter knows them!_ She believed she was becoming part of the swinging crowd.

Once they had got a table, they were served complimentary drinks by a woman in a barely there costume. _She wanted that costume!_ She had read about these sorts of places in magazines, and she was right in the middle of it, _like a socialite_. Joan could see why her dad didn't like this club, it was impressionable. Joan gulped down her martini a little too quickly, _that was excitement for you_. It was all Peter needed for him to order her two more rounds. "Good to see a woman drink how a drink should be drunk."

"Try saying that after a few glasses." Joan jested, this time savouring her dry martini."-Drink how a drink should be drunk." She repeated without a stumble. Their conversation took off from there, they sat close and spoke over the dim lamps about work- things she was sure her dad wanted kept from her. The band was introduced, Joan half-expected people to click instead of clap- but it was rather normal until the singer belted out her first line. It was so unique. As the music blared louder and catchier, it beckoned her. Joan became more impatient- it was the man's duty to escort her to the dance floor, and he wasn't halting the conversation to consider it. She smiled politely, she would have to make the move. "Shall we dance?"

He had just lit a cigarette."Erm, yes- go on then." There must have been a very good reason why he had put it off so long. She lead the way to the middle of the dance floor, amongst the bustle. She swaggered into place and turned- ready to groove, where Peter needed a bit of a kick start. Joan couldn't quite believe what she was seeing- bended elbows and knees. _Yikes._ But it was expressive, and non restrictive, he could dance how he liked. Joan wondered what she looked like dancing on her own in her room. Her arms swung first, then her body followed, kind of like a dog shaking themselves dry. She dipped her body and continued to wiggle, hopefully the sergeant will gain some rhythm. Jakes began jutting his head forward like a woodpecker. _Erm…Okay then_. She settled on twisting and mashing with her feet.

As songs and tempos changed, people would leave or approach the floor, but Joan would still be going on strong, dancing her soles away. She heard Jakes once or twice remind her they had drinks on the table. "I'm fine thanks!" She could see he was a little tired. "You can sit down if you like?!"

"Nah, the view's better from here!"

_What a charmer, and a trooper._ He continued to dance with equal vigour, bizarrely and heavy footed, nevertheless he was decent company in such a dark place.

One song demanded 'The Watusi', something she had to demonstrate, strangely enough she had practiced this with her brother. It required leaning towards your partner then reclining back- while they did the opposite. Peter seemed to enjoy this a lot. "See you're a natural!" A couple of miss-timed wiggles- and he would graze her chest, she took it in good spirits, but after the 3rd bump she got the feeling he was trying to cop a feel of her breast. It took her out of the dance "I'm ready for a drink now." Joan was about to finally have a pit stop -when the music suddenly slowed down. It would be awkward and childish to return to the table now.

"Come here." He coaxed her with a smirk and a lazy hand. _Okay_. She was drew into a fairly intimate hold, the slow tempo brought them swaying in slow circles. _This was nice._ A relaxed smile played on her lips, it could have easily been mistook for the look of love. _This was how a date was supposed to be_, she thought, as her forehead rested against his chin. She considered resting her head on his shoulder, other couples had fallen into that pattern, some were even kissing. _Nope, not yet._ It wouldn't be ruled out of her head, a kiss at the end of the night maybe, but canoodling in a crowded hall didn't appeal to her. Something then tickled her arm.

"-Is that you- what are you doing?" She tittered, squeezing his shoulder. It probably sent the wrong signal, his hand suddenly descended and cupped her buttocks- and there was a slight squeeze. Not long enough for him to get too much enjoyment from it, for she politely moved it from her posterior. "Woaw calm down, it's only a slow dance." She tried to get back into their cosy hold, but Peter had other ideas- both his hands slipped downwards to her hips and beyond, back to her rear. Joan was more than a little uncomfortable, as a fairly decent girl would -she clenched her buttocks in defence and gently shrugged his arms away. "I think you have taken a handful too much, don't you sergeant?" He appeared crestfallen. _Good._ "Go get us some shandy." She couldn't keep the disappointment from her voice, as their moment passed.

Peter backed off the dance floor to do her bidding, he came to a halt before he reached the bar and did a weird self-conscious lurch to one side. _What was he playing at?_ She tracked his eye-line to an imposing figure in the entrance. _Holy crap her father!_ She stood gormless in the dance hall, he was like a bear with a backlight, _perhaps if she kept still he wouldn't see her?_

Her father passed by her oblivious. Joan took the opportunity to slide onto the carpeted area of the club and wandered back to her table. She seized one of her untouched martinis and downed it. _Now where was her date?_ She finally spotted him near the exit, looking very jittery and pale, there was a quick exchange between them where he gestured profusely for her not to go to him. _What the-?_ Then he was gone.

CLATTER-SMASH! Joan jumped at the sound, and twisted as the club goers reacted to the hullabaloo.

"Yours I believe." That was the unmistakeable rumble of her father, and she wasn't in the right position to see what he was on about.

"-What's your game?!"

"-Vince…"

"-You send this to my home…My Home." He wasn't even yelling, but his tone put the fear of god into her.

"Not me Fred…you've got it all wrong."

She made out a dangerous looking type speak from his seat at a table. _But how can he be so threatening if he was lounging back like that- and referring to her dad by his given name?_

"-You'd better watch it, coming in here- throwing your weight about, you'd go the same way as your boy carter."

Joan managed to inch forward, at the exact same time someone else decided to ply the crowd apart on the dance floor to reach the indiscretion between her father and the elder and younger gents. The inspector turned. "What did you say?" _The fear of god_.

The person was either there to flare up matters or settler them down. She saw the raincoat in the space they had created, and the sympathetic but charged walk they had as they had reached her father. It was a Samaritan. "Sir." _Actually it's the constable._

The trouble maker of the club owner's cronies didn't feel the inspector 's wrath. "You heard."

"I don't think I did, so why don't you come out from behind your mates and tell me again." Morse held her father back- _and that took some nerve_. It didn't seem to diffuse the situation, there was still some hard faces, but just witnessing the controlled long arm of the law reach across her father like that seemed to smoother the fire in the inspector. Joan had less trouble walking into the firing line- after all, she wasn't alone.

"Dad." It was mainly to make her presence known more than to ask 'what was wrong?' She had walked into a cloud of testosterone; one that could get someone killed. Her father shot her a look of disbelief. The very question she had been dreading was on the tip of his tongue- before he swallowed it. There was no doubt her dad for a second looked frightened for her safety. Mr Thursday was quickly replaced with DI Thursday.

"Get out now." He rasped without looking at her. A knot formed in her stomach. _This really was serious_. "Morse, see her back." She didn't dare look at either of them. One was angry at her for being there, and the other appeared to have the misfortune of escorting her off the premises…again. The constable hesitated. _Bless him, he wants to protect her father_. He extended a reluctant arm to reach for her shoulder and turn her to the exit, a clump and clatter of shoes was heard as they moved through a parted sea of people. A warm hand on her arm was much appreciated as she was blasted with cold air outside.

Joan kept stealing glances back at the club doorway as she was 'assisted' away. She had noticed the benevolent Constable Morse was still manually guiding her, despite her walking willfully away from the place_. Perhaps he sensed she was on the verge of bolting back?_ If she did run back she would have to face the wrath of the underlings running the club- and the sooner she got home the sooner she would have to deal with the face-off with her father. Joan did a twirl out of the long arm of the law to face him head on.

"I appreciate you being on hand to help. But how exactly did you know what was about to kick-off before it even happened?- What was Pops doing?" Her mascara-ridden eyes clear in the lamp lit street.

"His job, it was police business- surely that must have occurred to you?-"He did a gesture for her to turn back around in the direction they were going. The young woman folded her arms in resistance, her legs firmly together. "And as your father's… right hand man- I was on the scene, Jakes wasn't going to be of any help. I was prepared." He added, as if that helped his plea.

"His rookie." She harked, shaking her head with a smile as if reminiscing. "Was this a full blown operation, he came from one end, you came from the other?" She bit her tongue, a rather speculative expression creeping to her features."How did you know Peter was there, you saw him?"

He felt a chill creep up his spine. _Right, he was supposed to be equally as surprised Jakes was there as well as her- or something to that effect, he should know nothing, pretend he saw nothing._ She was still level with him, reading him. _For god sake man say something!_ So he did."Was he there…?" She turned her head without breaking eye contact. "Was he there or not?" Getting impatient with his own oblivious act. "Okay- well I… may have seen someone who looked like him." _Say no more_. "On the dance floor."

He realized he had more reassuring to do, there had been too many occasions where he was forced to keep secrets. Miss Thursday appeared on the verge of burying herself, her mouth ingested her lips.

"You were very observant." She finally said frankly. She didn't doubt he saw everything, and it made her shudder with embarrassment. _Unless it was all for show…_ _And at her expense and virtue_. "-Was Peter in on this?- Was he undercover?- That frightened man act was pretty impressive."

Morse winced, _that's the last thing he needed, another pedestal for Jakes._ But judging by the look on her face, she was a little mad. "I don't think Jakes was any the wiser, he was stupid not to know about the criminal activity, and if he did- it would have been stupid to bring you into this." He said calmly, allowing his policing voice to take over completely, it was difficult- when she was staring at him like that. _Another reason why he needed her to face the other way._

She hugged herself as they came to a street lamp. Joan was reassured that the Sergeant's grope was just a grope for himself. And even if the Constable had saw, what could she possibly say about it? Coppers probably helped other coppers. Joan heard the rustle of clothing and suddenly felt the warm and smooth fabric of a trench coat adorn her shoulders. She caught him look sheepish at his own kind gesture. She wrinkled her nose at the sweetness of it. "Do you fancy a drink?"

_Was that an attempt to buy him off?_ _Miss Thursday wouldn't be a briber. Oh, maybe the coat was a gesture too much_? He grunted to clear his throat. "It's getting late, your family are probably waiting up for you."

"-My dad's in the club, and my mum and brother think I'm out with the girls- they're not expecting me anywhere soon."

A long suffering sigh escaped him. "The night isn't young, I'm sure the inspector would like to know I did my job and took you home, without any detours." His fingers were unprofessionally going towards his pockets_. No, resist._ He settled for rubbing the back of his head. "Shall we?" He had to lay his hands on her again to turn her around. She reluctantly swiveled, angrily expelling all the air out of her lungs. "The reputation of that bar didn't make you nervous?"

"It's a classy bar like any other, it has pop music and dancing, anything a mod could want."

"Mod?" He was prematurely _past it._ "Modern?- Jakes needs a little practice, he still has a plod in his step."

A musical laugh reached his ears, it threw him off- he looked at her gormlessly as a smile split Joan's face. "And this plod does have a sense of humour." She was applauding him, not literally- but the tone was there. "Needs a little practice, but yeah- you could be unintentionally funny."

This had given him a little lift, but he didn't put a swagger in his step- just yet. "You can't really practice being funny. I think you may mistake my politeness as me jesting." He smiled sincerely at the floor while they walked at a snail's pace.

"You mean you're only funny when you want to be nasty, that's called sarcasm- it's a defence mechanism." Joan wasn't stupid. "So if you ever get funny with me, or 'polite' you are actually being indifferent towards me, right?" She had confused him, she could tell by his silence. _That could scare him off._ "Okay, change of topic!" She shook her head frivolously and took a breath. "Do you have any hobbies?"

Morse had to stop to catch-up with the conversation. "What?- Hm, not really. I like going to the cinema."

"Good idea."

He was only half listening, to him it sounded like; _Good hobby_. "Hm yeah." He mumbled with his hands deep in his pockets. _Wait._ He craned his neck, shocked. "What? – No, that isn't a good idea." She was deliberately walking them in the direction of the movie theatre. He was using his long strides to keep up with her speedy trot. "Look, you're safer at home."

"They aren't going to come and get me at the cinema, in fact they're more likely to come and get me at home. According to Pops, they know where we live." She was still walking surprisingly fast for a girl in heels.

"Did you see those men in there? I don't want to alarm you- but I have never seen your father so worried."

"I have." Joan shrugged. "I'm his daughter, he's been worried many times."

"I can imagine." He commented.

"No. I don't get into trouble often." She retorted. "You should have seen him worry over you when you were around our house." She added before thinking.

"Worrying over me?" His brows furrowed.

"Don't sound so surprised." She tried. "He cares about other people on top of his family." She distracted herself by balancing on the edge of the curb, and trying not to look too obvious she was doing so.

"I don't need caring for."

His voice didn't sound grown-up at all, he had a sort of boyish tone. She gazed across and it looked like he was sulking, but _men don't sulk- they brood_. She silently laughed. "Neither do I." Joan changed the subject. "What's on at the flicks?" Gaining his attention once more.

"Nothing, it's closed."

"They have late showings, you liar." Morse clearly wasn't used to being called this, his facial expressions would range from placid to completely miffed, and it aged him. "One day your face is going to get stuck like that." She smiled to show it wasn't full of malice_. Be nicer_."How's your battle wound?"

That came out of nowhere, and his face remained the same; full of lines. "It's not an issue with me right now." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Did your father actually mention what happened?"

Joan maintained her smile. _Lie._"He told me everything, you poor thing." He was on the verge of getting defensive- if he wasn't such a gentleman. "Did you say something about not needing caring for?" At that moment she stumbled off the curb, ending her confident streak in the gutter in a semi-squat position. Morse was hovering over her in flash. "I'm alright, fine- see." She recovered and straightened. It was barely a wobble- but the constable's hands were clasped tight around her wrist and opposite shoulder like a first aider. "I didn't hit the deck fully."

"We're not on a ship."

"-What?" She had heard him, but she wanted him to explain why he felt the need to correct a catch-phrase. She curiously turned over her hands- and then quickly disregarded them. But the hand on her wrist thought otherwise, and turned one back over. "It's fine." She protested.

"You've took the skin off your hand." There was a smidge of concern in his voice, but it sounded more like an observation to take her down a peg or two.

"Wrong, the road took the skin off my hand. Haha, on a ship my foot." She tried to pull her hand free, it didn't budge. _Right, he's a policeman._ She huffed. "Look, I can walk along freely beside you, or you can cuff me. What's it going to be?" He was actually thinking about it. It was paining him. The constable finally turned and tugged her in their original direction. "Let me check my tights!"

"They're fine."

"So you noticed?" Morse stalled to let her check for herself, _he was very observant_. "Hm, I'll take your word for it next time."

"I never lie, Miss Thursday."

"Everybody lies, Constable Morse." She said with equal drawl, he didn't raise a brow at her- it was his look of indifference that goaded her. "What? If you're going to address me like that, I might as well address you thus."

"I wasn't going to complain."

She straightened very sharply after her tight inspection and went a little dizzy. "Oh." Morse put a hand to her shoulder to prevent her swaying. It didn't wear off, that's when she tasted bile mixed with martini. "I think I'm a bit…tipsy, but just a little. I only had 3 small glasses."

"You'll be fine. I think I understand why you thought you were on a ship." _Now he was seeing reason?_ "Come on then, a brisk walk will do you good." He continued to pull her along until the shrugging ceased, then it became a comfortable two abreast stroll, down the darkened streets. His hands had _accidentally_ fell into his pockets as he plodded along.

He detected her walk go slightly askew, and he was walked into some iron railings. For a brief moment he thought she might have took a turn for the worse, and his hand shot out to steady her.

"-Nah, no worries, I'm fine, I was turning this way." She jabbed her finger in the direction of a wooded area. "If we cut across this park we'll cut out 10 minutes." He wondered if it was some scheme, he looked from the gloom to her face. "You're not familiar with this route?" She sighed. "Trust me, the sooner I get home, the sooner I'm out of your hair. Then you can track down my dad and get your merit badge." She cocked her leg over a short bit of fencing and met up with the path on the other side. After it was too late she remembered she was wearing a mini dress, hopefully the dark and his coat had covered her.

Morse had no choice but to follow, she was his charge, and she had already damaged herself with that fall. If left to her own devices- she would probably end up in a ditch somewhere. "If you say so."

"Hmm." Quite impressed with her small persuasion. _Unless she had accidentally flashed him when cocking her leg over?…Then of course he would follow a girl with polka dot panties!_ "I'm sobering up." It was an afterthought, if you told someone you weren't vulnerable- then maybe it would make you safer. Joan walked as straight as she could down the path. It wasn't her wish for someone she liked to think she was irresponsible enough to get herself drunk. Her fist was grasping the collar of his coat to keep it in place at her shoulders. She tried not to make it obvious she was taking in its smell. _Soap and cigarettes_. She wanted to slow down enough so she could take in the back of him, the part that once wore the coat she was now wearing- to look at his build in transit. It just wasn't possible; he leveled with her every time she changed speed. _Damn it_.

The gloom sucked away their ability to converse, it made the sounds of the wildlife very fascinating. The crickets and the wind in the trees were serenading them through the park. They went over an embankment and finally met up with the main path again.

She heard him breathe deeply, the feeling was mutual- well it would be, if she felt more comfortable; mind and body. "You won't say anything…about Peter." She eliminated the nervousness from her voice, made it less of a question and more of a suggestion. His lack of urgency to answer her- undone her efforts. "Please. It's not easy meeting blokes, with dad…" She could tell she was near home, her feet always ached for the plush carpet and the fire place. "-Oh god…wait a minute." A series of groans of pain and relief expelled out of her mouth as she reached down to take her shoes off. Joan gave her feet a much deserved rub before setting them down on the cold tarmac. _Lovely_. "Well, he can't dance I know that much." She hung her shoes off her fingers while draping them over her shoulder. "To dad…no one's ever good enough."

"I'm sure he's got your best interests at heart."

_And so he speaks_. She stifled a laugh. _He really does try though; Morse that is, as well as her dad_. "That's very square." Honesty was sometimes one of her virtues, which she was sure more of Morse's too. "I thought I'd be alright with a copper." Focusing back on Peter. She would have harked on about her relationship to the force and her expectations but it became very redundant when a self assured voice uttered to the side of her.

"Well there are coppers, and there are coppers."

_Huh?_ Joan deliberately turned around in front of him. He became the most fascinating thing in world."And what sort are you?"

"I'm the sort who sees young ladies safely home." Honesty was indeed one of his virtues. And she knew he knew it; she saw that little curl of his lip, minuet as it was. He certainly had been true to his word. Her cheeks stung with a flattered smile. "Go on, I'll wait till you get inside."

_Alright, hold your horse._ She settled her shoes down to strip before him. "Don't say anything will you?" She had trouble handing back his coat, the exchange was too quick for her liking. But his genuine wry smile, and agreement with her- lasted a lifetime. "Thanks." She scooped up her shoes and left what felt like their special bubble of trust. Her cosy home beckoned her as she trotted barefoot across the frosted pathway.

"Goodnight." His tone sincere, and fleetingly…_something else._

Joan threw back a goodnight blissfully unaware of the emotion wreck that she would meet on the other side of the door.


	12. Chapter 12

Apologies- I've been looking for work- got a job now. Plus, I've been introduced to yet another fandom; Hannibal- Damn you tumblr! Anyway enjoy what there is so far, haven't really proof read it.

* * *

Her brother must have heard her scamper through the doorway, he emerged from the kitchen with a sandwich. "Oh it's you, what time do you call this?"

Joan waved her hands to shush him. _He was using the booming voice again to deliberately stir trouble_. She flitted away into the front room and knocked the lights off so she could peek through the curtains without being spotted from the outside. She spied Morse self-consciously turning away from the house to disappear into the night, _like batman_.

"Another suitor?" A voice unlike batman sounded next to the curtain with her.

"-Jesus…you're a bit close!" She shoved her brother into the arm chair, and his socked feet kicked up into the air. She grabbed them like they were levers. "For your information; he is a colleague of dad's who brought me home after there was a bust up in the pub I was in."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing." She narrowed her eyes. "Were you waiting up for me?" Wondering why on earth he was lurking in kitchen at that hour.

"Were you expecting mum?" He gluttonously bit into the sandwich he still held, mustard stained his cheek. "She tried to wait up, but she nodded off on the sofa. She has been fretting all night over gangsters and moles."

"She's what?.."

He finished his sandwich after one final bite."I know, completely out of the blue, there must have been a drama on the radio or something?"

Joan couldn't swallow in her brother's presence- she didn't want to alert her brother she may have stumbled on something last night at the club. There was a link between her mother's worry and her father storming into the club and ranting about his home. _Something had been delivered._ She left to scour the hallway for anything sinister or dirty looking. "Was something dropped at the door?"

"What post after 6?- No."

She scowled at him. _Of course she knew that._ "I meant threats, like before…like before we moved?"

"Holy hell, not that, we haven't been given curfews, so no."

She stood at her favourite spot, leaning against the sideboard. "We're not kids anymore, they wouldn't do that to us again…"

Her brother was not convinced. "That excuse doesn't work on them." He smiled serenely at her. "Why do you think pops convolved you into getting a lift with him?"

_Oh god he knew about Jakes?_ "It's not to chaperone me."

"Dad drives you everywhere, he doesn't take me." He nearly sounded jealous, except- "He must think I'm more independent."

Soon as she had gathered that the moron was referring to her father himself giving her lifts and not certain colleagues, bantering back was no longer on her agenda. _What was she kidding- bantering was always on her agenda_. "It it proves he loves me more than you."

"Wrong, he pries and picks at the disappointing child because he knows they need correcting, it's not exactly showering you with affection, he backs off me because I'm flawless." He was beginning to sound like a dandy_, she had always suspected that_.

She nearly jabbed him with her pert nose tip. "Flawless is boring." She bat her eyelashes at him as if they were a weapon and she left the now boring view of the window. She was on the stair when a gust of wind caught the back of her legs- the front door had opened and clattered shut. Her father was in the hall looking up at her rather challengingly. _Oh Lord._

* * *

Morse had the urge to go back to the office, he felt it might be the place to get his head back on the very serious case and out of the clouds. _Clouds_ might have been a wrong word for where he was and what was happening to him. Sure, he felt giddy- like being oxygen starved from walking at a great height. And his face hurt like he had been smiling more often than he should, the muscles in his face had received a full work-out, and he didn't have a clue why? _Perhaps he was mistaken? It might not be a giddy spell_, _it could be pent up anger or frustration?_- He did feel a little frustrated. He rubbed at his neck as the light from his lodgings warmed his face. The door was open from other careless tenants he assumed. He knocked the door open and stepped through the threshold into bedlam. A policeman was there, it wasn't that extraordinary considering he saw them on routinely basis. He recognised all the tenants gathered in conference. "Eh-hem."

They all turned casually, the policeman clocked him rather astounded. "I didn't think this was your department, it's only a theft." Morse self-consciously winced at the very broad and bad way of putting it- and in front of the tenants- he was pleased when Ms French jumped on it.

"Only a theft?!- Is that your attitude, I suppose if I got purposefully shot, it would only be a murder!" The others murmured in agreement, _at the sarcasm- not that they were agreeing that if MS French was shot it wouldn't matter_.

Morse bristled as he joined the ranks of the tenants. "You may find this mild indecent a bit tedious to what you're normally investigating, but try to treat every case as important as the next."

The constable was embarrassed- well both constables were embarrassed they were interacting out of hours. "Right, sorry, sir." He responded grudgingly, he glanced down at his note pad. "Did you want briefing?"

Morse was unsure if he was addressing him as constable or a civilian. "Well of course, I live here." That should hint as to how he actually wanted to be spoken to, he didn't want the tenants reminded or informed on what he was. "Where was the theft?" Ignoring the constable's surprise that he actually lived somewhere other than the station. "What was taken?"

"The hallway…"

"-What?"

"No- sorry, the theft took place in the hallway, a framed picture of a goldfish bowl and key were taken."

The detective screwed his face up. "That's quite random, who's were they?" He glanced from one face to the next. A series of deadpan faces met his. "No one's?- Then who exactly reported the theft?" He tugged at his earlobe inquisitively.

Ms French appeared to be the ring leader of all the tenants. "Well I reported it, but isn't it obvious the items belonged to the landlady, to spruce the place up. Don't you recall the items occupied this space?" She gestured to above the sideboard. "I'm surprised they didn't take the flowers as well."

The Detective Constable scanned the immediate area, he was spatially aware of everything in the hallway- but only when required. So it took some digging to remember the appearance of the items missing. "Are you sure the landlady didn't do it, while changing the flowers?- They look fresh, it's plausible." He zoned in on a scratch by the guestbook, and filed it away in his mind.

"I called her before making the report." Ms French gave off a stand-offish tone. "I am careful you know."

He quietly sighed at trouble this had put him in."The items will be sadly missed." Trying to sound sincere. "I'm sure the constable has everything he needs." It was the policeman's turn to look stand-offish, he'd took the words out of his mouth. Morse smiled wryly at anyone who would accept it, and brushed past them to get to his flat. "They'll probably turn up somewhere." They watched him- even as he stooped to retrieve a small bag by his door. It may have looked entirely mundane and laboured, but internally the detective was ecstatic with relief his packages hadn't stopped.

He put his flat into 'lock-down' mode in order to have his moment with the contents of said bag. A very fancy looking rectangular box, and a packet of mint humbugs were revealed to him. He concluded either the theft took place before the delivery- _because wouldn't they have stole the bag as well?_ He rolled the box in his hand, it had a leathery appearance, and a pop button seal.

_Logically the theft could have taken place at the same time as the delivery_. _The thief was the courier_. He finally popped open the box. It was stationery, an expensive looking set. It was nice, too nice, and it scared the hell out of him. The spare key had been taken so they could access the building for him, he wondered if the theft was in order for him to sit up and take notice, or maybe even lead him to them. _Not exactly the smartest thing to do; Stealing off a copper's doorstep. It could be a trap. It could be the serial killer, who stole the name Dr Cronyn. He had gotten too close._ He distanced himself from the box, the bag didn't smell strongly of perfume_. Maybe the theft had tainted it?_

Endeavour prowled around his table, eyeing the bag. _It could be coated with something deadly._ He needed to be more careful, he should report this, it was his desperation for escape that had forced him to keep quiet.

He was jacketless, as he wandered back into the hall. It was now deserted, absent of prying eyes, so he could investigate in the knowledge he won't be seen. The blank space that was once occupied by a picture was low down, very close to the sideboard. In fact quite near to the scratch on the varnished surface. It was relatively easy to work at what had transpired. The key, which he had been aware was a spare, had been lifted (stolen). Though Morse didn't recall seeing it for a few days, whether it had been missing awhile he didn't know, it probably took the 'disappearance' of the picture for anyone to realise the key was no longer in its place. His fingers danced over the surface of everything in front of him, the paperwork was at a minimum, compared to his desk. He felt a little bump of a flat object beneath the sheets, and for a moment thought he had stumbled on the key. Morse was confounded when he pushed the sheet aside and found a shard of glass. Another piece of what had transpired. As any detective would, he picked it up with a handkerchief and took possession of it- his evidence, his case. He squatted, his knees popped with the effort. It was this sudden change in position that he came to notice a layer of dust lining the edge of the table. He fingered it. It wasn't dust, more like a fine powder. The smell was definitely cosmetic, so it was a woman's foundation. Seeing as there was no mirror in the hall he could only assume it was from a pressed compact that included its own mirror. It wasn't really a clue- it could be nothing. There were women living in the building, and women probably crossed the threshold from time to time, all the while applying make-up.

"Mr Morse?"

He started and wobbled in his squatted position, turning his head quickly had buggered his balance. "Hm?" Ms French was in her dressing gown. _She gotten undressed quick?_ He smiled politely, if not slightly embarrassed. "Ms French, do you normally apply your make-up in the hallway?"

She crossed her arms as if he had asked her something indignant. "No, why would I need to?"

He backtracked, wondering if he had inadvertently insulted the woman. "I mean, when you are about to go out for the day, would you ever stop here and apply it?" He arose from the squat, gesturing his hand at the sideboard.

"Is this your subtle way of asking, would a woman be tempted to steal on the verge of going out?- My answer, possibly. But no, this isn't where I would apply make-up. When I do need to…" She tampered with her curls before continuing. "I use my stand alone mirror on my dressing table, in my room."

He returned a placid look. "Right." He turned as if to dismiss her and he felt something crunch under his shoe, he lifted his foot. Both he and the woman glanced at his sole. "Not yours I hope?"

She sneered at it. "How can I identify something you have made so unrecognisable?" She slouched forward to analyse, at the same time Morse salvaged broken bits of plastic from his sole and the carpet. Among the mangle, he made out a box, the lid fell away easily to reveal a broken mirror- _the compact._

"You were saying Ms French?" He tried not to be smug about presenting make-up to her.

"It isn't mine, I wouldn't smile if you knew the trouble you have cost some woman."

The detective constable retracted the object back and pocketed it with another handkerchief. "If this belongs to someone in the building- my condolences, if not… 'some woman' has some explaining to do."

* * *

Joan had run her body into the ground, she had been run ragged around at work- not to mention a certain errand and a little accident, and she had danced at home and at the club, and had walked all the way home in the dark in her dance heels, and had a second accident. The face-off with her father had tired her out as well. Joan had to defend her decision as an adult to go where she pleased, but also be obligated to follow orders when living under her father's roof. While pleading her case she had to feign being sober.

Joan the adult, had a job and she paid rent, but she wasn't allowed to go to the lower end of town unsupervised, or get tipsy even if she was completely alone or in the company of just women. _Oh what a wonderful life!_

Joan managed to remove her make-up before nodding off at her dressing table.


	13. Chapter 13

Joan sat across the table from her brother. "I really appreciate this."

"I'm surprised you asked."

"We aren't completely dysfunctional." Her bangle clattered on the table as she crossed her arms on the surface. "Anyway I thought you enjoyed arts and crafts?"

A very nasal snigger emitted from him. "This isn't art." He held up the rather bland picture. "It's a copy, a mass produced copy of a boring still life- which you somehow destroyed…"

"I improved it, it's become an abstract."

"So what are you trying to get me to fix?" He held it up like he was a host on blue peter.

She reached for the frame and decided against it, since Sam's thumb was holding it together. "Just make it look whole, make it not like someone steamrollered over it."

Sam appeared to have lost his ability to banter. The silence was filled with clicking, and chinks of glass being slotted together before crashing down on the table top. "I bet this was from the banker's office…it is, isn't it? That's why you looked so fretful." He peeked up at his sister, whom was staring sparsely through fingers at the mess he had created. "Has he given you a deadline?"

_Should she play along with this assumption?_ She didn't want work and family mixing, she didn't want her brother holding this over her head with father. "I'm doing random errands for people, this is one of them." She lied well.

"Are you being paid?"

_He wanted some._ "No, it's just kindness."

"Pushover."

She set him alight with her eyes. "I'll tell mother you said that."

He kept his attention on the object, it was as if she hadn't said anything at all. "I think this is a similar size to the picture on the landing- fetch me that."

Joan was sceptical. "They'll notice." She couldn't do a switch, both parties will see they have someone else's possession, and her parents will be equally surprised the mysterious new addition to their household is broken.

Sam continued. "I need the glass from ours to replace this one, that is all. The frame can be stapled."

_He sure knew what he was doing._"So you'll have it fixed within half an hour?"

He smiled. "I'll have it done within a minute, just get me that picture." She gave him a quick kiss, which he quickly wiped from his cheek, and she sashayed off to do his bidding.

When Joan was on the stair on the way back down she had a fright when she encountered a shape loom closer to the window of the front door. She froze, and squinted to make out an envelope coloured jacket and mousy hair approach the mat outside. She knew who it was, but she had a delayed reaction. Joan stood rather gormlessly as _that long arm of the law_ reached up and rang the doorbell. She was nearest, and she was certain he could see her from the outside. In slight panic she turned to go back up, in hopes someone else would deal with it. "Door!"

"I know, busy, you get it!" Sam did have a good reason.

She sighed long-sufferingly and trudged down the steps, she doubled back to the front room to chuck the picture at her brother, luckily he caught- or else there would have been two smashed pictures. She had a déjàvu as she waltzed back into the hall to unbolt the door. It was like unveiling an artefact when opening the door. "You called?"

The constable turned as if his attention had been on everything but the house. That rather miffed look adorned his features as if to say. 'Sorry?' "The inspector wishes me to be more punctual, **he is** in?" The whole constable façade seemed to collapse when he asked a question, his voice would have a juvenile lilt. "I've got the car."

"He's still getting dressed." Her body shifted backwards to widen the entrance, out of habit. Joan realised when it was a little too late she didn't want him in the house. _Not to be rude or anything- but she had broken property from his lodgings in the other room._ He was just crossing the threshold when her arm did a bizarre panicked reflex and she bumped the door into his side, _as if that would subtly stop him! _Morse gave her a slow look of surprise. "Sorry, my hand hadn't released the knob." Another misjudged thing on her part, she had used a strange array of words. He had shown some signs of having a vivid imagination since he gave her a double take. Joan couldn't react to anything that followed for it would come across as her thinking rather coarsely or worse- with intent on using a double-entendre. "Tea?"

"Err, no thank you." He was really trying a sincere smile.

_Figures_."Ulcer?" She turned and gestured for him to follow, he did…like a heeling dog.

"I don't understand?"

"You looked pained, I assumed you had a mouth ulcer- I get them, when I eat sugar, even natural sugar. I'm not supposed to eat strawberries because of it."

"Right." He wasn't going to engage her. "I don't have an ulcer." Perhaps she had offended him?- She had weaned him into admitting he always looked pained.

She arrived in the kitchen and leant against the work top. Morse was either slow, or he wasn't coming in, for she was met with an empty kitchen. Joan inclined to look around the doorway and he emerged at the last minute, as if he had battled with the decision to join her while out in the hallway. "Are you always the last person to enter a room?" She said rather abruptly, with no trace of caution.

"-And the last." This time his smile was genuine. "There aren't any prizes for anyone coming first."

"Aa, that's where you're wrong. If you board a bus last, you don't get a seat, and you'll find coming into this kitchen, I've reached the last jammie dodger." And she popped one into her mouth and scrunched up the packet it had vacated, to dispose of it. Her cheek expanded with its sweet filling. "Hmm."

"You were saying about ulcers?" Morse grinned wryly. _So he was going to engage her?_

She swallowed the biscuit in what she hoped was a dignified manner, giving her time to think. Turning to the board was the best idea. "I can't remove ulcer triggering food completely from my diet." The kettle was whistling on the stove so she removed it. "But I suppose the benefit could be losing weight."

There was a pregnant pause. _Though what was one expecting?_

"Why would a girl like you worry about a thing like that?"

Joan turned her head to spy on him from the corner of her eye. _Maybe that was what she had been expecting?_ "Well you certainly fell into that one…" She shot her gob off before thinking. Joan believed some wires had become crossed in her brain; that in between real conversations and her inner monologue. _If she had started, she might as well finish._ "I must be one of those girls fishing for a compliment, oh dear me, and I've strived not to be." She found she was filling two cups. Maybe the polite detective wouldn't be able to refuse her offering now his tea was made. "Do you take sugar?"

"Not if you advise against it?"

She couldn't tell if he was joking, his face was usual and formal. Right up until he met her eye – that's when a crinkle appeared by his mouth, the amusement swept up to his eyes. A giveaway for sincerity. She felt her face sting as her lip curled. "I will know when you try it- your face will tell me." A cup exchanged hands, followed by a fleeting moment of something…

The maturer female of the Thursday household floated into the kitchen, catching them mid exchange. "Good Morning dear, feeling better?"

He stood like an outsider looking in, staring between the two women before he realised it was addressed to him. "Erm." Morse had retreated into some kind of metaphorical bubble. Enough so, he was using his cup to hide behind. "I'm as good as I'll ever get." He managed.

"It must be the magic of our household." Joan inputted before her mother had the chance to say something on those lines.

"You could breakfast with us in the morning before work?" Mrs Thursday had her 'apron uniform' on, one which she would normally remove in front of guests, but had confidence to wear in front of the constable. _She must have mentally adopted him._ "It could become a typical morning for you?"

His tea shot down his throat a bit quickly. _Oh mother, don't scare him._ "I'm sure he has his own routine that works just fine." Joan spoke from behind her cup, mirroring him. "You wouldn't want his colleagues giving him stick, I could imagine the scandal at my place of work, if I had dinner with the bank manager." The mirrored drinking continued, it felt like they were having a subliminal conversation behind her mother's back. Joan could read gratitude in his eyes, and that's the best she would get from him, and she would ask for nothing more…

There was a rustle of someone crossing the carpet in the hallway, she hoped it was her father. But developed a sudden knot in her stomach when her brother came into view with a broken picture frame under his arm. Before anyone looked up -she had set her cup down and excused herself. Joan charged at Sam, it was enough to keep all eyes on her. She shoved her brother into the other room- knowing she was going to pay a terrible price. "Frame." She indicated with a lilt to her voice. "Are you crazy?"

"Oh yes, right, you don't want mum to know something's broken." He sounded completely assured, and just a smidge cocky.

But he didn't know the half of it, _and she was going to keep it that way._ "Yes. Let's see it then."

He flipped the frame. She was surprised it was only from the back it appeared damaged, but from the front it was one piece, and the glass was replaced, so she could see the fish bowl clearly. "Well done. I will buy you chocolate every Saturday, and I'll never go into your room again."

"So you have been in my room?" He confronted her, and she teased the picture from his talons before he could blackmail her with it.

"Like you haven't found yourself in mine." She hugged and concealed her prize with her knitted arms. It appeared Joan had timed it right, her mother and the constable were unable to contain themselves any longer in the kitchen. Thinking on her feet-"Dad must have fallen in the bath tub, he's taking a lot longer than usual, Sam, go check on him."

Mrs Thursday smiled. "You've taken the words right out of my mouth." Sam was already grudgingly trekking up the stairs, which left the three persons that mattered dithering in the hallway. Something she suspected was going to happen a lot lately.

"Would you like another cup of tea, dear?"

It must have been painful for him. "If it's all the same to you- I think I best wait in the car, I feel I'm intruding on your family's privacy." He was inching towards the front door, no one could stop him. And Joan felt obligated to open the door for him, since she had shown him in. She must have looked awkward though, overtaking him- turning fully away from them in order to shove the picture up her blouse and open the door with one hand. Morse acknowledged her peculiarly before politely thanking her. She had a problem with shutting the door, she couldn't close him completely out of their world. When she turned to make a comment to her mother- her father appeared at the top of the stairs. "Oh. Pops, your driver's here."

"Sam told me." He closed the distance, his wife stepped in to give him a kiss, it was probably to calm him down in case he flared up again. "You know what I'm going to say next…?" His coat and hat magically appeared on him. _Or was it just her way of seeing a policeman?_ "-Joan?"

"Hm." She jumped with a start, very self-conscious of the shape the frame was causing to her jumper. She shrugged carefully so as not to dislodge it further.

"Get your coat, you're getting a lift to work."

"Again?"

"Until you can keep yourself out of dangerous situations, I prefer seeing you to work and back." His voice wasn't even loud, it was fairly warm- and it didn't even make her angry. Her mother leered over her father's shoulder which meant she was siding with him on this one.

Probably the night she broke up with Ronnie hadn't pleased her father as well, because he had seen the state she was in when she got home. Her dad saw her as a victim in every situation, her father had lost confidence in her. And not even 'the Morse Assignment' was getting her brownie points, not anymore. He never asked about it, or give her praise. "Dad, everyone is going to think I'm dependant on my family. It's the 60s, I need to be the new woman."

"Don't give me that crap again. You make family sound like the least important thing in the world."

"It's a nest! You can't live in a nest for the rest of your life."

"No, you live your life to find a new nest, or expand the one you already have, getting a family of your own. I suppose that isn't a priority?"

She hated saying this in front of mother. "That's right, it isn't a priority!" She stared hard, feeling heat rising to her face, and moisture in her eyes. _Oh god, not now, man up. _Joan was worried the next thing she spoke would be through a series of sobs. Alas, she remained quiet and dignified.

Her mother left the room, _probably to sob in shame, or hang herself._ Her father had noticed his wife leave, and worse, he could see it had had a profound effect on his daughter.

"-See what you've done?"

She ground her teeth. "Mum has always known I wanted to develop a career, or at least prove I'm capable of doing something before settling down."

"Good for you. Just don't say it isn't a priority…it sounds awful coming from you." His voice dipped, almost to a patronizing tone. "Get your coat on, you'll be late." He said even more gently, and she obeyed.

As Joan buttoned up her coat, she spied her brother sitting sombrely at the top of the stairs. _Oh boy._ She was on mat outside looking towards the car as her father closed the door behind her. "Dad, you would tell us if something bad happened to do with work, right?"

The imposing figure next to her walked her down the path. "Something always bad happens- I'm a policeman." He opened the back door for her.

She sifted through his composed expression. "Has someone threatened you personally?" He assisted her into her seat and closed the door. _Discouraging_. She glanced over to the constable in the driver's seat, who could see her through the rear view mirror. He was apprehensive, he must have heard. "Has someone been blackmailed?" She directed this at the younger gent.

"It isn't your place." He said simply.

"Don't shut me off. Does every copper have to come out of the same mould?"

DI Thursday slid into the car next to Morse. "It's a bloody good job he does!" Obviously he had heard. "Now don't bother the constable while he's driving."

She felt the engine come to life, and the vibrations surround her. "Did someone drop something off at our home or not, you could at least be honest about that, scare me into submitting to your agenda for me." Joan didn't care who heard. One thing was for sure, Morse looked worried about something. The window of opportunity was slowly opening up.

* * *

He thought that when she had shown him out, it would be another couple of days till he naturally saw her again. It was a random thought that had occurred to him when reaching the car. _Was it really relevant to what he was investigating?- No_. They always ran into each other, and it was completely normal and expected that she would be there when he picked up his DI. He let out a slow breath he didn't know he had been holding, that house was_… overbearing? A hindrance? Intoxicating?_ He rapped his fingers on the bonnet as he waited. _He can think better in the car._ Endeavour clambered in, synapses firing as he dedicated the remaining minutes to himself wondering what it must be like waking up in the Thursday household, everyone desperate to use the bathroom- people casually milling about in their night attire. _Woaw, don't go down that road, give them some respect._

He toyed with the rear view mirror. There was a killer on the loose, there was criminal activity going on at that club, someone had threatened DI Thursday, and last night also he had discovered someone had threatened Ms Frazil, _and his dad was sick_. His head fell down onto the steering wheel, his mousy hair lapping over the dark hard material. _Not to forget_, he was being sent packages that could be to antagonize him. Coming back to oxford sure was a busy troublesome move.

The detective constable heard the front door bump and he snapped up, his hair needed a good flatten since he had been using the steering wheel as a pillow. Through sheer respect, he made a start getting out, twisting his body and unclicking his door. He glanced to the pavement- and stilled, acknowledging DI Thursday…and his daughter with his usual frown_. Okay_. They appeared sombre, as if someone had died. _Oh no._ He couldn't quiz them about it, it wasn't any of his business. As they neared him- still sitting gormlessly in the car, he saw Miss Thursday's eyes shift to him and he dropped his eyes awkwardly, it wasn't the time to start reading her. The back door opened behind him, letting in the cold and their voices.

"Has someone threatened you personally?" His ears were wagging. He recalled the incident in the club with interest. He finally spied her in the mirror just getting into the ideal position. "Has someone been blackmailed?" Her lined eyes blinked at him through the mirror, putting him on the spot.

He exhaled a long suffering sigh. "It isn't your place." Though he really wished he could tell all.

"Don't shut me off. Does every copper have to come out of the same mould?"

_She was somehow using a comparison with her dad to insult him again._

DI Thursday slid into the car next to him, it was an understatement to say he was relieved. "It's a bloody good job he does!" Obviously he had heard, and again his boss was on his side to brush off anything regurgitated by the girl in the back seat. Though the majority of what she said he didn't mind. "Now don't bother the constable while he's driving."

That was his cue to start the engine.

Miss Thursday had no scruples. "Did someone drop something off at our home or not? Tell me for god's sake! You could at least be honest about that, scare me into submitting to your agenda for me." It was a curious thing what her mind would splurge out, it was noteworthy enough to park up and listen. _Her father had an agenda for her?- And she needed to get a good scare that could make her obey? – What a family!_

"I wouldn't ask for anything you'll regret later." The car went hush. Morse inhaled his lips realizing it were he that had spoken. "I mean you'll lose sleep dwelling on what your father goes through on a daily basis." That was a little cocksure to be answering on behalf inspector, _this was Jakes doing_.

"Thank you, constable." Thursday rumbled, he was fairly confident that wasn't sarcasm.

"Yes, thank you." From the girl in the back, _that on the other hand was definitely sarcasm_.

Her father craned his neck for Joan. "You need protection physically and mentally. If anything suspicious is left on your desk at work, report it."

Joan shrunk down in her seat. "Great, so every time a customer makes a deposit- I have to blow a panic whistle."

Morse's face stung from stifling a laugh. But the word 'deposit' rung in his head enough to sober him quickly. He couldn't hold onto his thoughts, he needed to get them out into the open. "And not just at work, but anywhere- in a club, in a café…" _My flat-_ he knew the packages were connected somehow, _and that compact mirror?- The woman at the club, the gangster's mole?- Bribery._ He was detecting while driving, not a good idea since he was supposed to be taking a detour. "Random gifts from people…watch out for them."

The Inspector observed him curiously. "Gifts?" He shot his daughter a look. Morse hadn't failed to notice Miss Thursday had gone uncharacteristically quiet. _Unless she had received a gift?_

"Have you received any gifts?" Morse tried. He could see her avoiding the question by staring off out the window. _What's her problem?_

"Answer the man, Joan."

She had never looked so indignant. Especially since her father didn't look at all concerned or alarmed by the possibility, but amused. _What was so funny?_

"No." She finally ended their agony briskly. Though she wasn't finished there-"That's ridiculous, bad people don't punish people by distributing gifts…Gifts are gifts." She adjusted her misshapen jumper and carefully folded her arms and fell silent, but her breathing and fidgeting was amplified by her anger. Had he been not able to see her- he would have been satisfied with that answer. But she was holding something back, and only her father was authorized to get it out of her…sadly.

"I just remembered; didn't you receive a package not long ago from some admirer?" His DI asked with a sort of masked seriousness.

Awkward."That's correct." Morse retorted, very conscious of two sets of eyes gawking at him. No one like him wanted to discuss his nonexistent personal life. "I'm still getting the odd package left at my door, not too sure it's an admirer though, erm – there aren't any notes or cards with the-" He cleared his throat. _Damn spotlight_. "…Gifts, nothing negative has materialized from these… things, so I don't know what to think." He slowed to a holt outside the bank. A brief acknowledgment to his rear passenger he deduced Miss Thursday was less than comfortable and a bit distressed, it was enough to hold off all investigations just to find out why. _Probably should stop staring at her_. She threw herself out of the car and waved her goodbyes.

"Bye Sweetheart!" And in a different tone. "That's worth looking into."

"Yeah…" _Wait, which one did he mean?_


	14. Chapter 14

I had trouble deciding when to finish this chapter, I didn't know where to put the breaks in. Finally settled on where it does finish, and to leave the rest in the next chapter.

* * *

When she got into the entrance hall of the bank after her car dash, she stalled to transfer the picture from under her jumper, to in her bag. Joan might as well check her hair and face while she was at it. Her routine of unclasping her loose catch of her bag and reaching for her compact was disrupted, by the fact- she didn't have her compact. She rummaged for about a minute. _Shoot, she couldn't have taken it out of her bag and not put it back in, it was so unlike her._ She looked back towards where her dad's car had parked, they had gone. _So she couldn't even check the backseat or use the rear-view mirror. _She had low hopes for today.

Joan grimaced at the paperwork cluttering her desk. _She wasn't in the mood today. _She set her bag down, a shadow engulfed her desk. _What now?_ She gazed up and wished she hadn't. "Ronnie, no."

"I thought you would be ready today, I gave you some breathing space." He had the audacity to place another pile on her desk. He _was better off leaving a steaming pile of shit_. Ronnie moved her pen holder so he could perch on her desk.

"For god's sake Ronnie, I don't have time!" She dropped into her seat, making it clear she was there to work and nothing more. "We'll converse in the lounge at break." She flapped her hands to be rid of him, instead he swept around the desk. "Oh boy." Not looking at him as he squatted by her chair to patronize her with love.

"Let's be nice to one another, put that little row behind us and…"

"-Be friends." She asserted, but then raised her finger. "No…colleagues!"

He lurched back. "Um…actually I was going to say get back on track to where we were."

The likelihood of that was zero percent, and it felt really awkward discussing it, and at work. The chair groaned as she pushed back and got up. "I've already accepted that we don't make a pair." The only way she was going to get work done was if she moved her paperwork to another desk…_or another bank._ "You didn't assume I would just walk in here and throw my arms around you."

He was abashed, shaking his head. "Don't be daft, I thought you would see reason, I had been drinking, and you were probably stressed from work, as I was!"

"-Ronnie that will be our excuse every time we have a bust up, so maybe we shouldn't be in a relationship." _Was she not making herself clear?_ If she got anymore tougher she would be considered a bitch. "Please Ronnie, just let me get back to work." _Could she say she had moved on without sounding like a slut?_ No. "Let's begin by saying something work related, then we'll chat personally at break, okay." She soothed, her hand brushing his arm. But considering what she was trying to do, it might have sent the wrong signal.

He seemed to be chewing the air before he finally acknowledged her. "Fine." _Thank god._"You're a cashier today."

"Yes!" She raised her arms and bent her knees. Joan must have had an outer body experience because she straightened and sobered almost immediately after. "Right, okay." She cleared her throat. "Thank you, Mr. Gidderton." Anymore formal and she would be shaking his hand.

"Expect to be on that station for the rest of the week." This seemed a little much, he was either trying to buy her love, or prove there was no hard feelings. "I know how you enjoy that post." _Did he have to say that?_ Now it was certain it was all for her.

"I don't have any quarrels with paperwork." She added, but he left rather grudgingly with no word to reassure they were on good terms. _Shit, work would be awkward from now on._

As Joan had figured, preparing for her lunch break was hell. Even though she had a couple of mates she could have used as a barrier, _against him_. Joan shrugged of their attempts to sway her to sit down to lunch with him. _At least they weren't encouraging her to give him another chance. _It was too soon for her to discuss her date with Sergeant Jakes. She didn't want them to think she was a floozy. She had lunch on her own on the roof gardens opposite the bank. Snow had settled where people usually sit. The wool of her coat had become moist, so she shivered over her lunch bag. Wool wasn't entirely ideal for the wet weather. She heard soft footfalls crunch through the snow behind her. _Ronnie was so persistent_. She ignored them to the best of her ability, _perhaps they won't disturb her if they knew she was eating?_ They seated themselves next to Joan, and she deduced they wanted to talk. _Great._

* * *

The report of a young girl's body spread like wildfire. The community was quite tight, neighbours crossed gardens to gossip. Take it from someone who is paid to be in the know about these things, they would know the anguish of waiting to be told it's someone they know, and to compose themselves in order to investigate sensibly, and give people a fair trial.

Morse watched Thursday like a hawk, he admired the man's cool. It was as if his DI was positive it was not his daughter. _That was rather grim of him._ It should have never crossed his mind. The moment he starts wondering if it's someone close, is probably the day he should pack things in. Though if that was the case, he would have packed it in twice. He should have shared some of his DI's cool, have confidence in Miss Thursday to have not have got herself killed_. Isn't that offensive towards people unfortunate enough to have got caught?- Yes_…_you sick cold bastard._

DS Jakes was coming with them. _Great_. He wondered if Jakes was anxious about the news. The man was nearly as detached as the best investigators, _maybe that's what he was lacking?- The ability to detach. _

When they walked down the hall and outside into the courtyard, he sort of felt like a musketeer. But an extra member joined their ensemble in the car; PC Strange, out of uniform joined the detective ranks. Morse couldn't deny he was pleased, now there was two whom didn't like Jakes.

They arrived to see the body being moved, a head of fiery hair spilled off the stretcher. Such a waste. Back to work; the club was in for another visit.

They identified the body with the help of the girl's flatmate, and ventured to the club owner's home. When Morse had to a step out to consult the gangster's mole with a picture of the victim, he chose to produce the lady's compact, to gauge her reaction. She was quite nonplus about it, which didn't really mean anything. She was either very good at hiding her feelings, or she had absolutely nothing to do with the packages. As he tucked the item away, he felt he had abused his position- and wasted police time over such a small little trinket. Probably shouldn't have sniffed the woman either.

* * *

A man had the audacity to use her as a messenger for her father, using her as bait. _A little strong that word._ She basically told him to shove it, and moved quickly enough to avoid getting clobbered. That spoiled her sandwich by leaving a nasty taste in her mouth. Joan needed a good cheering up, _perhaps shopping would cheer her up?_

After Joan had scoured the first department store, she had purchased a fetching red raincoat with matching hat. She couldn't stop touching the glossy material- so in the end she wore it out of the shop. While buzzing around the street, she removed her hat to avoid people finding her too eye- catching. Her next and final shop held sets of ties with days of the week stitched into them, _definitely yes_. Sweets and candy were no longer on her agenda for the detective, she felt she needed to prove to herself she was an adult, and could get more mature gifts. The stationery kit she had bought yesterday had been a brilliant idea, it was unfortunate she had come away breaking a picture. _Oh god, the picture!_ She cracked open her bag, the picture sat snugly between the ties and a bar of chocolate- _for herself._

Joan was rushing down the high street. The picture should have been returned sooner, she shouldn't have taken it in the first place, she should have left it, allowed the residents to blame each other. _Too many' shoulds' not enough' dids'_. It was an odd hour to do it, night time would be preferable, but during her lunch hour- interesting. The railings of the property loomed and she wasn't going to creep in like a cat burglar. If someone did come out into the hall their surprise would be short lived, they would wonder why she was so quiet in broad daylight, a_nd why she was speedily exiting the building._ Joan had to enter normally, and exit quietly- _if that made any sense?_ Thinking about it now, an ordinary raincoat would have made her look like a spy. _Bloody Brilliant._

She unlocked the main door, and peered around it apprehensively. It was clear, for now. _So much for being normal and casual._ She walked into the hall, those doors were probably becoming one of her phobias. She placed the set of ties by Morse's door- as perusal. Her attention crept to the wall, the nail was still there, it didn't take long for her to hook up the picture to it. Pleased with her work, she extended it to the flowers, by plucking out the dry ones in the bunch, and leaving the healthy flowers. Her raincoat material creaked as she moved to the door, she had left it open to make a quick exit. Joan came through the doorway as an older woman was coming up the steps. Her panic made her silent, and she kept her head down as she met the main path. The two women crossed without incident, to the relief of the younger woman.

Joan felt like a hot air balloon losing some of its baggage. A sense of euphoria followed as she approached the bank, but crossing the main hall she spied the clock, she was 10 minutes late- and a friend had kindly covered for her.

* * *

Detective Constable Morse had popped back to his flat to drop off a case folder. _One that shouldn't be brought home._ It was a cold case that had nagged him a couple of days ago- that somehow could relate to his own situation. _An admirer whom became a stalker- which then led to murder._ His rather morbid imagination had brought him to the point of breaking the rules and pocketing the files. Endeavour was in the hallway when he clapped eyes on the restored picture. _What the-?_ The files slackened in his hand, but not enough for him to drop the paperwork entirely. He stared at the picture like it had betrayed him.

"It's back I see."

_His thought precisely_. He craned his neck in the direction of the other resident's voice. "How long?" He asked abruptly without a proper address. "They only had from the late morning till…now to have done this."

"Plenty of time, the land lady must have got a replacement."

Endeavour screwed up his face, he didn't buy it. "Where?- There aren't stacks of them in the high street."

Ms. French's very schooled features became full of spite. "Fine." She was about to disappear into her apartment when another residence made themselves known on the stair. "Good news Mrs Hamish, the picture's back."

"Oh Good." Her smile was warm and genuine, a far cry from Ms. French's. "I bet that girl who dropped by might have something to do with it." The stair creaked as she brought herself down to the ground floor.

Endeavour's ears burned with this sudden new information. "Girl?"

"The land lady is hardly a girl." Ms. French droned, adding nothing useful to the investigation. "I don't think she has a daughter either."

Mrs Hamish needed to be prodded for more. Endeavour strained a smile. "Can you describe her?"

"It was fleeting, she was young, a brunette- had one of those trendy bright red rain coats on- she left immediately. Didn't really know if she was anything to do with it. I just hadn't seen her before. Is that okay…should have I said anything?"

_That was good enough for him_. "No, if you had spoke up they might not have acknowledged you at all, if they were being discreet. Thank you, Mrs Hamish." He shot a glance over to the other lady. Ms French looked positively envious of the other resident, since Hamish had been useful and had received a 'thank you', whereas French had received a look of indifference from the constable. _He just found her so false and cold._

A package greeted him at his door. He speedily picked it up while under intense scrutiny.

Mrs Hamish leaned on the banister. "A clue?"

Morse just curled his lip and shook his head. Ms. French wasn't going to let it slip by. "Your girlfriend has dropped by then?" She rounded on him, a hand to her face to deliberately look discreet. It was an abysmal act that wanted to be seen. "Perhaps the lady caller, the honest thief, and the girlfriend are the same person?"

French had something quite useful to say for once. He nearly poked her eye out with his nose turning his head to quiz her. "Girlfriend. " He said out loud to feel it on his tongue. "Are you saying you've seen the woman that comes by and drops these off?"

"Now you're interested?" When she used these tones she didn't sound her age, which he was certain was around 50, but she dressed like she was 20. After bestowing him with a nauseating smile, she began to make a profile. "A young thing, again- a brunette, had an up-do hairstyle. Not very bright."

If he knew the woman in question he would have defended her. "What gave you the impression she wasn't very bright?" He tried not to spit.

"She didn't know how to talk to me, and walked in like she owned everything. If she thought she could get away with that around me, then that's how I found her not very bright." Ms. French loved a good moan. So Endeavour only could imagine she had exaggerated her description to make the 'girl' sound intolerable.

"I wouldn't say it was bright of you to insult the woman who could damn well be my girlfriend." He probably shouldn't have said that, he winced. "Which she isn't…" Back to the investigation. "So she spoke to you, or tried….what was she like?" He made himself sound placid, more interested on a professional level.

The woman was still reeling from the shock of Morse countering her. "Well, she was… a typical youth." That was the most she could muster, after that little outburst. "And she had the audacity to get me to buzz her in. Whatever she was dropping off- it must have been important."

Morse's hold on his package become torturous, and he knew he had to hold onto this witness longer. "Was she well spoken?- Forward?"

"I just said she didn't know how to talk to me." She scoffed. "If forward means ignorant- then yes." Her hair flew out from the doorway she disappeared through, and a slammed door followed in her wake.

Endeavour's mind was elsewhere for only a moment; in front of a chalkboard, writing down attributes. A distorted image came to him; the tall faceless blonde that usually danced across his mind, this time was replaced with a faceless petite girl adorned with dark brown hair. The blonde as he recalled was meeker, and had her head always downcast or facing the other way. Whereas the newly formed brunette, despite her small stature- was almost imposing.

"Mr Morse?" _Of course, Mrs Hamish was still on the stairs._ "I wouldn't take her word fully, if the girl was so forward -then why does she never give you these packages face to face?"

The maturer woman was humouring him, she knew that he knew. A wry smile latched onto his features. "Thank you, Mrs Hamish, I will look into it." His key found its way into his hand as he heard Mrs Hamish ascend the stairs. But he didn't let himself in, instead he left still clutching the package. He was better at work when it came to filling in blanks. Morse initiated a fast thinking walk back to work, using this time to jump mentally from suspect to suspect, Alice Vixen being one of them.


	15. Chapter 15

This is strongly based on 'Home', in fact it's a written down version with extensions and thought processes. I just need to proof read it.

* * *

Alice Vixen had wiggled into his life, and then had dismissed herself entirely from it. He passed her place of work to see her smoking next to her colleague and new beau. This display convinced him she wouldn't bother him with any packages or tokens of affection. He was there long enough to see them exchange an open display of affection. A shudder emitted from its depths – Which he could identify as annoyance at being rejected and replaced so easily. He also had this strange longing to have the same companionship with someone else. There wasn't enough women in his life, _well… never long enough to be stapled to him._ But it wasn't like they were a necessity.

Morse met up with the inspector for a drink, an argument had broke out between them before being quelled by Sergeant Jakes bringing them a round of lager. A strange sort of look passed between the two young gents. _What the hell does he want?_ Morse broke the intense gaze with Jakes by gulping his drink.

* * *

At the station, they brought in the striking 'room-mate' for questioning. After a few prods and pokes- they managed to reveal the level of intimacy between her and her roommate. _Quite a revelation, in more ways than one – it told him that men weren't a necessity for women either._ The case was opening up. The Coke-Norris widow also had more information on her husband, about a bit of valuable land. Endeavour was back at his desk in a more quiet period in-between cases, but from what he had found out, the cases were linked. The office was filled with clicks and tings of a typewriter, and the mugginess of too many bodies in one room gave him the impulse to remove his jacket.

"You didn't tell him?..." Morse raised his head over the paper fastened in the type writer, confused. Jakes stared him down. "-The old man, the other night… Joan, and the moonlight club?" He had the audacity to think he cared- _wait he didn't ask that._

"Oh, hmph." _That meant; no, why should I?_

"I would have…If it was you." Jakes said in all honesty, but with a lot of callous. It triggered another shudder out of the constable. He didn't doubt what Jakes had confessed, the man hated his guts, he would go to that length to put him higher in Thursday's good books. _But would he?- As men who drank in the pub together, other colleagues would turn on the taddler._

"No you wouldn't." Endeavour retorted plainly, trying to end the subject. He brought his hands and attention to the typewriter in front of him.

Jakes wasn't done with him. "Look…" He began in a confidential manner. "You got your sergeant's exam coming up tomorrow." He eyed passing colleagues, Morse frowned at his sudden interest in his exam- _like he was going to help him revise._ "- What if I could get you a look at the exam paper?.."

The detective constable stared him out shrewdly- _was he suggesting?_ _How was Jakes a higher rank than him?- That son of a gun!_

"If you don't pass you'll be stuck on general inquiries for another year…That what you want?"

Morse huffed. Made it known he wasn't interested and insulted by the notion.

"I'm trying to do you a favour."

"-No, you're trying to buy me off." Now he felt sick to the stomach; for more than just a colleague doubting his capabilities, but he felt he was betraying his inspector letting this nonce take out Miss Thursday, maybe even ruining her. Jakes was nearby chuckling at his accusation, all he could do was let it go and not swing for him. _But what can he do?_ "If you want to do me a favour?...Don't mess her about." It came out so easily, as if rehearsed or pent up for some time. "Alright?"

It took some time for Jakes to leave the office, through the intense stares he was giving off. PC Strange was in earshot of the whole thing, and tennised between them to get a grasp of the severity of it all.

* * *

Luckily Inspector Thursday was out, to confront the criminals with his findings. His colleagues were ignorant of him being at the moonlight club, and stumbling on the fact that Joan hadn't been at that club for a 'girlie night out'. He knew he had roped Joan into a scheme involving Morse. A scheme to comfort the lone sleuth. But he didn't imagine he had actually thrown his daughter at Morse, and they had gone a step further than being… _secret correspondents_? – _Had this been inevitable?_ Morse had dragged her into the danger zone on a date, that was unforgivable. _Unless this was some plan on their part to solve a crime together; his apprentice and his little girl. Had they been talking about this for some time? The packages could have been notes?_ He just hoped it wasn't a sordid affair. But he knew in his heart that both parties were responsible and respected him- _what more could he ask for?_ – A little less secrecy, and more honesty maybe.

Mr Thursday needed to be certain, but who was he to speak to first? He found himself sitting at his desk pondering, holding the very paperwork that would condemn the criminals. But he would have to hand it over to protect his family. There was no doubt he was angry at what he was about to do, he had gift wrapped the papers – like they had the wreath to him. He glanced across at an envelope on his desk, the one addressed to Morse. Fred had written it some time ago; a good luck card, for the constable's approaching sergeants exam. It had been so unlike him. And so was this- the inspector seized the card and slipped it in front of the incriminating paperwork. Now it was Morse's problem, to take away the temptation of helping the thugs. Though he himself was endangering his family, he had accepted that now Morse will be protecting his family, since he was involved with his daughter. _But would he handle the responsibility? – He damn well better_.

The detective Constable strutted into the office, it was his cue to call on him. "Morse, I want a word with you, in private."

The young man acknowledged him with an air of astonishment, it had sounded so ominous. It was followed by several more- when a phone call came through to him from the constable's sister.

* * *

Morse felt bile in his throat. He figured the stress had given him indigestion. The cases had had him on his toes, so the phone call had felt like he had finally fallen on his face. The embarrassment of dealing with all his colleagues exchanging forced condolences when no one had died. Endeavour had the grueling task of being allowed to be escorted off the premises' to his flat by the inspector. _But it was nice of him._ He felt the inspector's eyes on him as he packed some belongings in a case and hand luggage, pausing to ponder if he would need a good set of ties with days of the week stitched into them for the trip.

This was embarrassing, the inspector saw what he was holding- _and yes he had to comment on it._"There quite quirky."

"Err yeah, they were a present. Not sure I'd be going that long to utilize them all."

_A present?- could it be..._ "Well no matter how long it takes, take all the time off you need and more…and if those would be a comfort to you, then take them." DI Thursday reassured, before adding. "Though originally I was going to say, would you really need ties?- A little informal don't you think for a close family visit?"

Morse really liked wearing ties, he would be undressed otherwise. "My dad is every reason you should be at your best, I have to prove to him I made the right choice." Was the excuse he gave, but he felt that even that on some level was true. His dad hadn't wanted him to become a policeman. _Hard luck._ He spared the inspector a glance, the man's features had become hard and probing, he figured it was to judge his father's character and Morse's upbringing.

"I suppose you do have something to prove…"

Another glance was spared at the inspector. _Hm_…_interesting._ "Do you think I've made a bad decision?" He asked rather coyly.

"You're asking me this, now? – It's your life." Fred had an itch that needed to be scratched, but he couldn't selfishly bother the boy about the issue now. "As long as no harm is done to anybody else."

_Hm. Again…interesting._ Morse wondered if his DI was trying to tell him something in code, apart from the obvious. He brought his attention to the ties and dropped them in his case, the decision amused the inspector to no end.

"You don't have to take me, sir."

"Don't be silly, it's an obligation." They were off in the car, in silence. As the two approached the station, the inspector probed him with another question. "Isn't there anybody you wish me to give a message to?"

It threw the constable off guard. "Erm, no…nobody comes to mind."

"Yep, okay that's fine."

_Then why did the DI sound so offended?_ He didn't want to leave his superior on bad terms. "You'll manage while I'm gone?- Don't go kicking any doors down without me." He jested. "And tell PC Strange he can step in again, I think he's enjoying himself- don't let it get to his head." Morse tried to rush off without him, the inspector followed him into the station, right into the ticket queue. He realised in his haste he had left his case, and helpfully Fred was clutching it. "Oh yes, thank you." He was about to take it off him, when Fred handed it to a handler.

"That'll reserve you a place."

The constable got his ticket. "I'm sorry about this, it's probably just another false alarm." He lugged his hand luggage to a coach with Fred hot on his heels.

"Family. A man only gets one father. We'll manage." He reached for the door the young gent had gone through to close it behind him. The train groaned into motion.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" He spoke through the door window, still keen to hold a conversation.

"It'll keep." The inspector was firm, but his lip positively trembled- which had Morse believe it _really was_ urgent and couldn't keep. So he kept an open face in order to coax him- _and by gum it worked,_ but it would leave him more flummoxed than before. "I know you went out with Joan the other night."

… He literally hung out of the coach window, ready to seize the opportunity to actually reveal the truth about Jakes, and at the same time deny he was involved. But then it occurred to him '_Why would he assume that he was with Joan?'_ _Did he think the walk home was eventful?_ It was enough to make a young man sweat.

"Be good to her!" Fred called as the train chuffed away. And that was it.

_Was that it?_ It felt more like a blessing than a confrontation. He half expected Jakes to have got something a little less pleasing than that; _a clip around the ear maybe_. He sat down aghast. It seemed DI Thursday was a lot more easygoing than he thought, unless it was because they were close- _in a professional sense_. But considering they were parting in a rush and the circumstances he was leaving, maybe that's all the inspector had time for- and pity was another factor. So that took him off his high for a second, before he was back to realizing that by not denying it, had cemented it, and Thursday had accepted it. _So therefore they were a couple in some make believe world. Him and Miss Thursday, not Jakes and Joan._ The only thing that unsettled him was the 'be good to her'. It sounded so final.

* * *

Joan got home earlier than usual that night, a female colleague had given her a lift. Her mother had on that grave look she had that morning. The one saved for when someone had died. Mrs Thursday swept her into a hug when she wandered into the kitchen. "Okay…What is this for?" Joan breathed, reaching up to pat the back of her mother's cardigan.

"Nothing, I just wanted to hold you, like I did when you were little."

Joan smiled nervously. "Has something happened?"Mrs Thursday's hand came up to Joan's up-do and forced her head onto her mother's shoulder, lengthening the hug. "Mum?"

They separated, enough to see each other's faces. "Your Dad came home early to get something- now he's gone….and I'm scared." It half explained Mrs Thursday somber appearance.

It was up to her to make her mother better, she seated her down at the table and made her tea with a tot of rum to soothe her nerves. Joan shifted her seat close to cosy up to her mum, whom sipped her drink steadily, staring zombie like into the wall. "Did father say where he was going?"

"I was going to give him his sandwiches- I didn't have to time give them him in the morning, then I made some tea for him…" She trailed off as if replaying her actions. Joan slipped a hand onto her mother's, trying to coax more out of her, it worked. "-He was in the shed, fiddling."

The story came to a close there. _Fair enough._ But 'fiddling' could have meant anything. _Anything_. Joan gulped rather loudly. "He's a grown man he can do what he likes." She said straight, but squirmed nevertheless. "But midday, that's a little odd… maybe it just sprang upon him and he needed to go to the shed." _Seriously stop right now, before you get scarred for life._ She did a hard blink to rid herself of everything that manifested in her head, and looked to the heavens for guidance. "Sam probably does the same." _Soap for the brain, soap for the brain._

Mrs Thursday shot her a look. "Joan what are you talking about?"

It was this that made Joan realize she had made a mistake. "I have no idea anymore. What the hell does he keep in that shed… apart from tools?"

"His pistol."

"Oooh." Joan's surprise and relief made her hand slip from her mother's. "He's an inspector, isn't he supposed to bear arms?" She shot up out of her seat to pace the kitchen tiles. "He probably left because he's not suppose to explain what he gets up to- remember; leave work by the stand in the hall?" She saw the distress in her mum's eyes- _why hadn't she softened?_ "Mum…listen, if he's got the gun, he's one up on the person he's after."

"Your dad only carries his gun when he's dealing with armed criminals. The criminal he's dealing with is no ordinary villain, it's…" She fretted over the name that was about to cross her lips, shaky hands running over aching temples. "The man we left behind when we moved."

She had been young when they had come to oxford, she had a sense they were running from someone, but a name was never brought up in the household. _Perhaps giving an evil a name, cemented its power over them?_ "The man in the moonlight club." The young Thursday said quietly to herself- followed by a sudden bolt of fear when she thought her mum will know she went to the forbidden area of town. "...As I was informed by dad, the man dropped something off at our house."

Mrs Thursday fingers met with her own temples again. "He told you."

"What was it?" _Dare she even ask?_ Her mind fabricated a dead cat in a basket.

"Flowers."

Joan screwed her face up. "Right. What else would it be? – Those hardened criminals have some nerve."

"Please darling- I'm not in the mood for your sarcasm." She shrunk down into her seat. "It was more like a wreath you put on a grave."

_Oh Lord._ She couldn't equal her mother's concern, she took after her father- a hardened face with soft furrowed brows. Joan recalled her own scrape with a gangster that afternoon on the roof, it was on the tip of her tongue, but that would just send Mrs Thursday over the edge. "Well they have a bit of class when it comes to threats, and so do we…dad sent it right back." She ended it with a huff and took a sip of her mother's tea. The pent anger released another burden. "I've broken up with Ronnie…"

Mrs Thursday's hands fell from her temple. "Oh well that's something that will please your father, just don't say he was right."

"He wasn't, Ronnie certainly wasn't wet behind the ears. He was just annoying in his own way." Her chin rested on her knuckles. "Older men are better."

That gave her mother something else to worry about. "They certainly are, but wait to catch up with them first."

The tension had slackened off, and the sun had come out- the room was less dim. "Mum...You haven't seen my compact lying around, have you?"

* * *

R & R Please- obligation, since this is such a small fandom.


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